To Be Used
by cobalt elysium
Summary: A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed and now Booker's on the scene. It's a tug of war of forbidden love. MM with DougTom, DennisTom.Mentions of abuse.
1. Phone Call

**Disclaimer:** Jump St doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the wonderful Stephen J. Cannal, who could have had some very raunchy story lines. I am just filling in the raunchiness where he didn't

**Summary:** A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M

**A/N:** Includes male-male, slash, and references too. If you don't like that sort of stuff well…

This is especially for _goodnightmysweetprince_ and _Hanson's Hot_. The two greatest gals!

- - -

**To Be Used  
**  
**Chapter One  
Phone call**

"Doug!" A childish giggle, "Do-ug!"

He pushed his larger frame onto the smaller one of Tom Hanson, "What Tommy?" he drawled, knee pinning him loosely against the storage room wall.

Another soft giggle and Tom Hanson flashed his teeth, pouted rose lips stretched, pushing the roaming hands of Doug Penhall away without much strength or resistance, "What if we get caught?"

A bemused chuckle, "And what if we don't?" he pushed his lips against his partners, sharing each others laughter.

Tom pulled away before Doug could use the laughter as an excuse to force his tongue hungrily down his throat, "We're back on duty in ten!" he turned his head to the side, grabbing Doug's hand, pulling it away from his crotch.

"So?"

"So," he gasped as lethal lips locked onto his neck, sucking greedily, "So…If we start this," his voice squeaked as Doug pressed harder, smothering the left side of his neck in ravenous kisses, "I don't…don't….Do-ug!" he moaned, body melting into the welcoming, stronger one of his partner, "think I can…can stop."

Doug mumbled into his neck, his wispy breath and flutter of lips tickling Tom's tender skin. He grabbed at Doug's hair, running his hand threw it in lust and desire, "Doug…we gotta stop," though he didn't want to.

Doug pulled up, letting his bottom lip trail on his neck for a moment longer, "I knew the mops and buckets in here would make you jealous. Tom, we've been through this. I have eyes," he reached for Toms crotch, mouth drawing closer to the smaller mans, "And every other body part," his hot breath against his jaw excited Tom, "only for you." Doug locked lips gently with Tom, prying apart the eager lips and poking a tongue in; enjoying every crevasse of Tom's tongue, every bump of his teeth, the soft, moist feel and the sweet taste of fading mint and coffee

Tom reluctantly pulled away, "If we both go in aroused, pink faced, sweaty and lust ridden, they're gonna get even more suspicious, 'specially booker."

Doug nodded, leaning against the wall on his left side, arms crossed, "We gonna continue this?"

Tom stood, stretching, "Well that all depends," he made a grab for the door handle, lips dangerously close to Penhall's, "you gonna let me stay over this time?"

Doug nodded; last Tom had had to leave earlier as Booker had come over to query a case they had been on. Tom was forced to change from room to room as Doug led Booker around until Tom finally crept and snuck out of the front door, but not before he heard Bookers faint curiosity arise.

"Good," he opened the door, checking to see if anyone was coming around the corner, "I'll drive to your place shortly after you leave."

"Our place," Doug corrected.

Hanson turned and smiled. That's what he loved about Doug, anything that was his, was Tom's, and vise versa, and Doug made sure never to forget it. "Yea," he breathed huskily, "ours."

- - -

"C'mon!!"

"Shut it Penhall!"

A pen hit the floor with an angry thud, fist connecting with the desk, "Stay outta this Judy!"

Tom didn't even bother to look up, "Can you two take your bickering back to pre-school, I'm workin' on something very important."

"What? Checking out Playboy weekly?" Booker's patronizing call came shortly, "Bet that takes up a lot of your concentration Tom ol' boy."

Tom blushed a light shade of red, "Don't you have somethin' to do? Asses to kiss, pets to be?"

"This is the second time! The second time!"

Judy sighed irritably, how she was supposed to concentrate with Doug Penhall in the same room as her was beyond comprehension. At least Booker and Hanson were manageable! "What Doug?! What did you do for the second time?"

Booker strode up to Hanson's desk, "So whatcha doing Tommy?"

"Go away Booker, I'm fresh out of fly spray."

"The same mistake," Doug scrunched up a piece of paper, throwing it towards the growing pile, "I keep mixing up the case files. I can't remember what I was doing for any of them, and then I confuse them with the other and-" his fist connected with the desk, "I hate paper work!"

"Who doesn't," mumbled Judy.

Booker sat on the edge of the desk, making a grab for the magazine Tom was holding, "C'mon Hanson, give it here!"

"Booker!" he threatened, "If you don't get of this table…."

"Yea?" he sneered, leaning back, "What?"

"Beat it!"

"Can you two can it for a minute?" Doug's plead came from across the room.

"Oh! Oh! Look who's talking!" Hanson shifted forwards on his chair, "Mr. 'I-can't-fill-in-a-simple-form-without-making-a-big-display'" he leaned out of reach from Bookers hand, "And you," he rounded, "Get lost!"

"Make me!"

"Is that an offer?"

"Is that a threat?" Dennis mimicked.

"All of you shut up!" Judy fumed, throwing her pencil on her desk in exasperation.

Shouts came from all across the room, sounding like a race track much more than four officers on desk duty in a small building.

"Stay outta-"

"Booker!-"

"Give it!-"

"I can't concen-"

"Get lost!-"

"Another mistake!-"

"Shut it!-"

"Hanson!-"

"ENOUGH!" The last voiced resonated above all of them, hushing the 'children.' "What the hell is going on out here!!?"

Voices mingled again, "Doug won't shut up!-"

"Judy keeps sticking-"

"Booker won't-"

"That's 'cause Hanson-"

"Yea but Doug-"

"And Judy-"

"You didn't have to-"

"Oh so I'm being-"

"ENOUGH," sounded again, this time with a sharper tone that sent the toughest mafia man cowering "I can hear you all the way out the hall, while I was talking to Blowfish about fixing the heating system, _again_," he emphasized, "But it you'd all rather much freeze to death, that's fine. It saves me a lot of unwanted paper work and lets me keep the funding money, okay?"

A mutual, incoherent murmur. "Pardon?" Fuller called.

"Sorry," they chorused.

Fuller sighed, straightening the papers in his hands, "Some how, I don't think there's as much belief in that word as there use to be, as much fear." He turned to leave, slamming his office door behind him.

There was a moment's pause. A paper rustled a little, the sound of a page turning, the clatter of a dropped pencil and the hum of machines. Then a soft buzz, a barely audible murmur, and in tones only slightly hushed, it started again.

"Right, Booker, I swear-"

"That's it!-"

"I mean it!-"

"If you don't-"

"Go away!-"

Amongst this Tom and Doug caught each others eye. Although their faces were masked into frowns and smirks, their eyes danced with love and mirth. In a short while they would be gone and heading home. In a little while they would be alone in the same vicinity as the other. In a while, they would be in each other's embrace.

- - -

Tom spun the wheel to his left, checking over his shoulder for any blind spots and to watch out that he didn't hit the fence, pole, or car behind him. Satisfied, he shifted gears, looked forwards, turned the wheel, looked back, then forwards again and exited Jump St, following the main road to Doug's place, to home.

He gave the volume knob a turn, lean fingers tapping to the music, head bobbing up and down, lips puckered as he uttered along side the drums. The car came to a stop at the red light; he glanced at his watch then messed his hair up in the rear view mirror. In fifteen minutes he would be at Doug's. A smile spread upon his lips.

The green light flashed and Tom pounded the accelerator, shouting the lyrics, "_I'm like a laser, six streamin' razor,_" He turned the car wheel sharply, pulling a face as a car horn sounded at him for his late indicator. He was in too good a spirit. That's what Doug did to him. It made his hormones crazy, like a crazed sixteen year old, made his heart throb and ache, lust and desire. His mind envision, want and crave. The pure thought, mere mention, call of name or even print of his name, made Tom excited, speed up his pulse, gave him a rush of adrenaline. Every time a new thought of Doug came, Tom's heart jumped a little, stomach flipped and he craved his fellow cop all the more.

Tom slowed the car as it approached the street, heart beat quickening. He brought it to a gradually halt, car jumping as the engine shut off. Checking him self in the rear view mirror again. He gave another ruffle to his hair, giving it the 'just-got-up' look that Doug loved. He reached across the glove box, sifting through papers, dry bullets, containers, food wrappings, money, and bandanas. A plastic container knocked against his palm and he pulled it out with a rattle. Popping the lid, he tipped a few Tic Tacs into his mouth before chucking the container in the back. Tom was paranoid about bad breath and kissing; to him, there was nothing worse.

He strode lazily to Doug's apartment, using the intercom before climbing the stairs. He was going to take the longest route possible. For some reason he was more excited and nervous than he had ever been.

Tom stood at Doug's door, trying to calm his breathing. Why was he like this? So jumpy and nervous and…squeamish? The door opened in his face, not allowing him the chance to run off, "Hey," Doug smiled.

"Hey," he stood, looking uncomfortable.

"I saw you coming up, knew you'd be standing for awhile. Come in"

"Yea," he tried regain composer.

Not two steps in and door only just close, Doug had him up against in. Lips locked in furious play, body pinning him to the door, hand around Tom's waist. In shock, Tom didn't respond but gradually it dawned and soon Tom's hands were running down Doug's back, knees spread with Doug's one in between.

They stayed in that erotic position for a while, until Doug pulled a way. "I made dinner," he breathed heavily.

"You?" Tom leant heavily against the door, body suddenly weak.

"Yea, don't sound so," he needed more air; he had been deprived for a while, "shocked."

"I'm sorry but," his head rolled to the side, "cooking, as well as cleaning and organizing, don't come under the word 'Doug'. But I'm very flattered." He gave a soft smile; one that killed Doug and made him love Tom so much more.

"You should be, I didn't get to shower."

"Then go have one, we'll eat after." He brushed off Doug's unsure look, "C'mon, what can go wrong? I'm a trained cop. Plus I'm a better cook than you"

He sighed, defeated, "Just don't burn it 'right?" "

"Yea, yea. Go have your shower. You stink man, real bad"

An annoyed voice called from the bathroom, "Ha-ha. Real comedian ain't ya." Tom didn't bother responding as the bathroom door closed.

He shuffled his way to the fridge, picking up a bottle of beer. Popping the top, with difficulty, he chucked the bottle opener and bottle lid across the bench, flopping onto the couch. He lazily channel surfed, piecing together parts of different shows into a totally nonsensical conversation.

Startled out of his stupor from the shrill ringing of Doug's phone, he jumped over the back of the couch and picked up the phone, breathing, "Yea, Hello?" forgetting he was at Doug's place.

A soft female voice answered him, "Hi, is that Doug?"

"Uh-"

She cut him off, assuming it was, "Hey it's Cynthia. Just wanted to tell you I'm sorry that I couldn't come last week, but how about we go out next week. Friday's no good for me, nor is Sunday. Saturday?"

Tom's mouth hung slightly open, unable to find words, unable to get his mind around the situation. He made an odd noise that Cynthia took as a yes.

"Oh good! Look, I'll ring you later to discuss some _details_," she stressed the words seductively, "Love ya Douggie."

"Yea…" Hanson couldn't get his mind around the situation, around the meanings. He heard a click and then a buzz. Pulling the phone from his ear he replaced it back, numb and shocked. Some how he had made his way back to the couch and he had no recollection if it, staring at his un-drunken beer.

_'Go out next week' _

Go out? How long had Doug been going out with some one else? And was it sexual or not? Was it just a friendship that Tom was misjudging? Or was it something deeper than what he had Doug had?

_'I'll ring you' _

How many times had she run him or him her? How many times had it been her trying to get through when Tom was on the phone. How many times had Doug chosen to speak to her rather than Tom? What did they talk about? Casual, normal, mutual things like he and Doug did, or naughty, late night chats like he and Doug also did?

_'Love ya'_

How could such a simple phrase hurt and confuse him so much? Had Doug said the same thing to her? Were Doug's words as false sounding as Cynthia's? Did he sound like that to Doug, false and sickly sweet?

_'Douggie.'_

Wasn't _he_ the only one who ever called him that? Ever have permission to?

"You alright?"

Tom jumped, startled. Blinking, he looked back at Doug. Hair slightly damp from the shower, tight, white t-shirt clinging to him, baggy tracksuit pants adding a comfy, warm look. His eyes were smiling; his mouth was turned up in a goofy side grin. A slight glimpse of his abdomen showed from where the t-shirt had ridden up. An abdomen Cynthia had touched, a smile she had seen, wet hair she had played with, naked body she had laid against. A sudden anger took over Tom.

"Cynthia called"

.  
**The lyrics Tom 'shouts' out is from Quiet Riot, Bang Your Head**


	2. Snap

**Disclaimer: **Cynthia is, regretfully, mine. Other than that, I own naught.

**Summary:** A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M.

Thank you for your response and adding this story on alerts! Though, updates won't be as quick or steady as this. School. It sucks. Sucks Giant Donkey balls.

- - -

**To be Used  
**  
**Chapter Two.  
Snap **

Doug's smile faltered, "Yea?" He padded bare foot across the room, "Yea, okay, sure," he grabbed the remote control and flicked from the home-brand commercial to the sports channel, "You want dinner now?"

It took a moment for Doug's words to register to Tom, his uncaring, flippant attitude opposite to what Tom had imagined, "Yea," he drifted, "sure, just ah, here or at the table?"

"Here. Sports on"

"Right," he watched Doug's retreating back suspiciously. Was Doug acting too uncaring, which meant he definitely was involved with this woman somehow, or was he uncaring just enough to mean that she was only a friend?

"So what did Cynthia say?" A plate hit against another one as Doug drew them from the cupboard, placing them on the table top.

Tom fumed, "Nothing much. Just said hi. She'd call you back later." He was finding his anger taking control, leaving his passive mood behind.

"Oh," there was a faint trace of relief, "Good, good, she said she'd call, yea?" he grabbed the plates and headed back to the couch.

"A-ha," he was almost too angry and hurt to talk to Doug, finding his presence over bearing. The plate slipped onto his lap, heat passing through his jeans. He paused, staring unblinkingly at it then looked at Doug's chirpy grin with cold eyes, "This is your idea of cooking? Placing a meat pie in the oven?"

"Yup," a smack of lips.

"Figures," he murmured, not shifting down the couch when Doug sat down. A silence fell and the annoyingly high pitched voice of the reporter rang constantly, the occasionally slurp of meat filling and clink of plate. After a moment longer Doug turned to Tom, his pie only partially gone, "What's wrong Tom?"

"Nothing," he continued staring at the television.

"No there isn't, you've been all moody since I came out of the shower."

"_Moody_?" Tom resented the referral to a pre-menstrual woman.

Doug smiled, "Okay, okay, not moody, but you're not as happy as you were when you came in, not as," he let a hand fall to Tom's thigh, hoping to evoke some desire, "sexy."

Tom batted the hand agitatedly away, "Not now."

Irritated, Doug pulled away, "You are moody."

"I am not!"

"Yea? Then how come you're all cold and isolated. How come you don't wanna," he leaned in to whisper the sinful deed seductively, "touch and stuff?"

The only fault Tom could claim of Doug's, was that he missed the obvious, missed feelings, and didn't seem to always understand what could make another hurt. Even if it was right in front of him. Sometimes with Doug, you had to draw a big crayon picture and prep writing. "Just go away Doug."

"This _is_ my house," Doug was now starting to feel his own anger.

Spitefully, Tom stood up, leaving the half eaten pie in place of where he'd been, "Fine," he kicked past the small table and made for the door, "fine, this is _your_ house, so I'll just leave _your_ house instead." What had happened to the 'what yours is mine', 'ours' slogans?

Doug stared in bewilderment, "Wha'?"

"Your house, so I leave. Even you can understand something like that."

Doug too stood, "Okay Hanson, what's wrong? Don't you dare leave my house without an explanation!"

He was inches from the door, "Scared Doug, real scared." His hand made contact with the door knob.

In seconds, Doug had raced around to pin Hanson aggressively to the door, "_Scared_ _now?_" There was a venomous tone in Doug's voice that Tom hadn't heard directed to him, couldn't recall ever being there.

"C'mon Doug, get off me."

He gripped tighter to Tom's jacket, "You're not going Tom."

A fear started to rise in Tom. How serious was Doug? "Doug, let go of me now." His voice quivered slightly as Doug's grip only tightened further still.

"I said you're not going, understand?"

Tom's eyes narrowed in fear and concern, he had never seen this side of Doug. Not sure how far Doug would take this, or how he would react, Tom decided to go along with everything until he could easily get out and later work out what had happened.

"Yea, I do. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" he placed a smaller hand onto Doug's clenched one, "So how 'bout you lemme go and I'll come back over to the couch with you."

There was a half second pause, "Don't bullshit me Hanson."

Tom only remembered being called Hanson by Doug in the office, and it stung his pounding heart, "No one's bullshitting you okay? Just let me go. We'll talk about this some other time." He felt the grip release, now barely touching his jacket.

"Okay," he mumbled, sudden anger gone, "Sure. I didn't mean anything by this Tom, I just…" he paused, "Love ya I guess."

Even now the words angered Tom to a point that he had to resist hitting Doug hard in the face, "I know Doug." Doug's hands finally fell away, and Tom's shoulders relaxed, breathing evening out. They stood for a while, Tom leaning against the door, before Doug ventured back to the couch. Slow and tired like a month old puppy.

Tom let his head fall back, hitting the door with a soft bump, neck strained. His heart was only just starting to calm down. He had never, ever, seen Doug like that, never been on a receiving end of something violent. Only verbal little fights. So why now?

He racked his brain, letting a hand run through his hair. Sure there had been times when Doug's anger had climaxed, but never this bad. A thrown pillow, kicked table, slammed door, little things like that. But never like this. There had even been times when Tom could see Doug wanting to hit him, wanting to choke him, but they had always been suppressed, always. So why now?

"You coming?"

Startled, Tom's neck snapped forward, an unhealthy click sounding, "Ow," he mumbled, "Yea, coming now." He pushed off the door, walking slowly to the couch and sitting near the end.

They watched the images flash and dance, bright color blinding them and loud, mingled voices deafening them. Tom's hands fidgeted, wringing another, "Doug?" it was soft and timid.

"Yea?" There was nothing in his voice of before, just soft and happy, uncaring and sweet, like always.

"Who's…ah, you know, ah…" he sighed, "Who's Cynthia?"

Tom made eye contact, staring into the cold ones of Doug Penhall. He instantly recalled the look Doug wore and stood hurriedly off the couch; hearing a high pitched whistle close to his ear and the cuff of a finger.

For the first time, Doug had acted on his suppressed emotions.

Tom walked quickly to the door, feet barely hitting the ground, heart deafening in his ears. He heard Doug's hurried one's behind him and quickly lunged for the door handle, opening the door a good meter just as Doug turned him around.

"Doug-" he couldn't see the point in trying to reason, but he nothing else to give.

"Shut up okay?" the tone was soft and hushed, sending shivers down Tom's spine, "You don't know nothing."

"I just wanna know who she is Doug," he shrugged casually, almost regretfully.

"She's no one, okay," Doug's eyes shifted, body stressed, "no one."

Angry again, Tom rolled his eyes, "My ass Doug, she's obviously someone. Someone who wants to, 'discuss some _details_," he mimicked. He bore angry eyes into equally angry ones, "You wanna tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Nothing Tom, nothing. Christ, you analyze everything! She's just a friend. God, why do you have to be so paranoid about everything, so attached?"

Tom felt a crack run through the middle of his heart, "Yea? Paranoid am I, attached? I think I have a right to be when some young, hot sounding female calls, apologizing for last week and organizing this weeks 'date' to discuss some '_details'_ and who calls you Douggie!"

Doug closed the proximity of them, speaking in cold, clipped tones, "Why can't you just keep your nose out of everyone's business. You always gotta know something. One day it's gonna get you into trouble."

Tom swallowed, he had a feeling today might be the day, "Anything that you're involved in, or _with_, is my business. What's yours is mine and mine is yours, you know?" he backed out of the apartment, Doug matching his every step.

"You just don't understand do you?"

The sadistic, leveled, unchanging tone of Doug was nerving Tom to great amounts. He found himself backed against the building wall, "No…I…" his voice shook, nerves of steel melting.

"Some things just gotta be left alone." Doug stopped moving, leaving a gap, "Cynthia is just a friend, okay?"

Tom knew he should have said okay back, should have nodded in agreement, but his idiotic mind would not rest, "You don't love me, do you? It's her, isn't? You love her."

"You don't know what you're on about Tommy," there was a false light air in his voice.

"I do!" he cried indignantly, still fearful of Doug, "You're going out with her! God! How could I have been such an idiot, you love her!"

"Tom-" he warned. "No! No, admit it Doug, you like her! You like her don't you?!" Doug made to reply but Tom beat him, "You god damn like her and you didn't tell me!" his back was no longer pressed against the wall in cower, "Christ! You like her! And I've just been a little toy for you, haven't I? I've just been there for your enjoyment, your fun, your pleasure, but not love. I'm just something you can-"

Doug had had enough, without thinking he released the pressure in his hand. Arm reaching out to his left shoulder, swinging back so that his palm met Tom's jaw. He watched Tom crumple from shock and pain. Watched as his partner, both in crime and love, placed a delicate hand to his bleeding mouth and swollen jaw. Watched as accusing, shocked, hurting eyes stared into his own. Turning away, unable to bare the guilt and shame he felt, Doug refused to continue the gaze.

Doug's breathing rose and fell heavily, an uneven pant, he stepped backwards, stumbling a little. "I'm…I…I'm-" he couldn't bring himself to apologies. He shook his head, "Why'd ya have to be so nosey? So damn curious and accusing? This isn't my fault."

Tom remained staring in a type of dazed trance, hand still lingering over his swollen lips. His pained chocolate orbs followed Doug's retreating figure into his apartment. He could only nod, lost for words, unable to recall Doug's.

"This isn't my fault," he repeated in reassurance for himself, "it's not my fault."

Tom nodded again, making only little comprehension of the words. He watched the door close, Doug disappear from sight, previous happiness gone. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

Doug had never hit him, Doug was his protector. His knight in rusted armor. He wasn't supposed to hit Tom, to get nastily physical. To daunt and scare him, evoke fear from him. And he never had, never in all the years Tom had known him, he had never evoked Tom to such fear as he had tonight. Never made lunges and grabs for him. Never punched him in the face without a legit reason.

His hand fell, as did his heart. What was happening to them? Was their relationship over, had it ever been there to begin with? Was he just something on the side for Doug? Tom didn't feel whole anymore, not like he had this morning. This morning, he had felt like nothing on earth mattered as much as that moment. That if he was to die then and there, he would be quite content to do so, knowing his life had meaning, that he had experienced something so rich and pure.

But now…

Tom picked himself up, heading down the stairs and out to his car, fumbling for the car keys. His face bleeding and bruised, stiff and numb.

Just like his heart.

**.  
Poor Tom… XD  
Review please, I love feedback, good or bad. **


	3. Booker

**Disclaimer: **Blah. I own only that not mentioned, introduced, or known in Jump Street.

**Summary:** A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M.

**A/n:** I feel like a right bitch, not being able to respond to any of your comments, so I'd like to thank every one. You guys do seriously rock! Finally, just before I was about to post this, ffnet allowed me to receive alerts and reviews and stuff. Made my day, it did. Heh. So now I can respond XD.

- - -

**To be Used  
**  
**Chapter Three.  
Booker **

Tom stared into his bathroom mirror; six a.m. sunlight streaming in from the window, creeping over his furniture to Tom's naked chest. Melting into his honey complexion, accentuating his fine features, rounding his sharp edges, pooling in the dents of his spine and ribs.

His face stared tiredly back at him, water dripping off the end of his nose and chin. Steam rising from him, smothering him in wispy clouds. Droplets of water rolled down his back, falling down his legs to pool at his feet. The tied towel around his pelvis slipped slightly, rich brown matching his eyes.

He rubbed lazily at the fogged mirror, emitting a harsh squeak. His hand fell to the still slightly swollen area of his right sided jaw. He ran a thumb over the patchwork of browns and blues and a tinge of green on the bone of his jaw. It was still raw and angry. He shifted his hand slightly, so his index finger rested on the plump, swollen bottom lip. Dark circles stained from where the blood had dried and was trying to heal. It looked like a shammed Collagen job.

He turned from his reflection, leaving hollow, sunken, black eyes. He had spent all of last night and the better part of the morning thinking about what had happened last night; to him, to Doug. To them.

He shuffled from the bathroom to his bedroom. He had spent a lot of it recalling any other times he had sensed Doug wanting to hit him, and could only recount two or three that had genuinely, almost spitefully, been evoked on Tom's behalf. Then he had gone over everything he had said and done in the last week, trying to think of what he had done wrong. All he could remember was the coffee he had spilt on Doug, and been forgiven for, and mentioning Cynthia. But was there something else he had skimmed, over looked, not thought much of?

He ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to close his bedroom door. He had then spent the early hours of the morning trying to come up with a legitimate excuse, a reason for the blemish on his face. He had thought of covering it with make up, but it was flawed by two things; he didn't have any make up, and had no idea what color, brand or how to apply it.

He pulled on a pair of ripped jeans, especially ripped he mused. He had done them, to fit in at the high school, but had grown attached to them and fell in love with the look, the attitude. Truth be known, he didn't mind playing Tommy McQuaid. He often found himself wishing to be him, wanting to act like him and maybe it wouldn't hurt if he did. He could use a new attitude, one that didn't get hit so easily, and didn't take it so lightly either. However, Tom Hanson seemed destined for the vulnerable, docile boy he was underneath it all.

His heart ached as he pulled on a red tank top with mini sleeves, damp hair falling in his eyes. He still didn't know why Doug had done that too him, after all the promises of never hurting him, after knowing what Tom's past had been like. He supposed it was something he had done, and would just have to work hard at fixing. He didn't know not to blame himself.

He pulled on a much loved leather jacket, tucking a white bandana in the inside pocket. Normally, he would have worn it out, hair falling over the top, but he couldn't remember if he was going to 'school' today. He couldn't remember what day it was to begin with. In fact, he couldn't remember much of last night, not even how he had made it home and to his bed. All he remembered was Doug. Doug's attitude, Doug's words, Doug's backhand.

Tom gave his hair a ruffle, grabbing the towel and getting the worse of wetness off. Grabbing his keys and heading out, he closed and locked his apartment door. He waved to a neighbor a few doors down, keeping his face in the shadows. Pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck, he gave the building door a kick, harsh wind whipping in his face, wet hair chilling his neck.

He jogged to the car as a light drizzle of rain fell. Tom fumbled for the keys, jogging on the spot; chilled. He sniffed heavily; it would be only his luck to get a cold right now, in the middle of this mess. He squinted into the sky, twisting the key. It seemed to always rain when things got low, when loves fire burned out.

Reversing and pulling into a wide left, Tom left his apartment, nervously tapping his steering wheel. He had no idea what today would bring him, what Doug would.

- - -

"Hanson?"

"Hanson!"

"Hey Tomm-" Ioki's voice faltered as he, Judy and Booker stared into the bruised face of their partner. Tom at this moment felt like falling into a swallowing dark hole and was almost tempted to search for one.

"Nice day today." The rain outside was forming into hail stones.

Judy's eyes softened, features relaxing, mouth turned in an apologetic smile, "What happened Tom?" He fought the urge to look down, ashamed and guilty.

A menacing smile crept onto Booker's lips, "Yea Tommy boy, what happened? Get on the wrong side of the law?"

"Shut it Booker!" Judy's sudden reproachful, scornful voice beat Tom's. She softened again, turning to him with worried eyes, "Everything okay?"

"Yea," he forced a smile, "'Course it is. Just had an accident."

"Yea with someone's fist," Booker's murmur was silenced by both Ioki's and Judy's glares.

"No," Tom made a glare of his own, "I just learnt that you never keep high cupboard doors open. _Very_ dangerous. Especially if one happens to be the height of the cupboard door and if they also happen to be tearing around the corner."

Ioki nodded, shaking his head in mock disapproval, "You're a worry Tom."

He smiled sheepishly, "Someone's gotta be."

Judy was not entirely convinced, "You sure Tom? That doesn't look much like a doors mark. You didn't get into a fight did ya?" she narrowed her Bambi eyes, "You know you can tell us if you did right? We wouldn't mind, we'd help you out and-"

Tom's eyes widened and narrowed, uncomfortable at her overbearing ways and accusing tone. He glanced feebly at Ioki, needing some form of help. His lips turned up in an apologizing, "get-rid-of-her," smile, right side of his mouth aching.

"C'mon Judes, give it a rest. The guy obviously can't maneuver his way around his own apartment. Leave the clown to his juggling." Tom beamed in thanks.

Judy, however, eyed him suspiciously, "Yea, yea I guess so…But if you need something, or if you're in trouble…"

He nodded, "Thanks Judy, I'll remember." He took a seat at his desk, sitting restlessly. Fingers drumming on the desk, lips vibrating at his odd sounds, head turning in boredom. "Hey," he queried, "Where's Doug?"

"Talking to Fuller about something, don't know what, but he seemed distressed." Judy had already buried herself back in the paperwork.

"Don't worry Tom; your lover boy is coming back. You'll be able to touch him soon." Booker's sneer caused Tom to smirk back nastily, eyes squinted.

"Oh, but I'd much rather be touching you Dennis," Tom had learnt that the best way to deal with Booker's homosexual references, was to dish it back to him, always emitting an embarrassed blush or, on the better days, silence.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you Hanson." It was complimented by a furious blush.

"Much so," Tom took a seat at his own desk, searchingthrough the papers, new and old, on his desk, "but I don't think now's the right time, y'know?"

"Bloody fag," Booker uttered.

"You know _Book_, those who make fun of others sexuality are usually trying to hide there own." Ioki's casual comment and wide grin only made Dennis see red and Tom laugh, even getting a small one from Judy.

"Don't psycho-bullshit me." Booker turned back to the form on his desk, end of conversation.

"But Captain!"

Three heads turned curiously to Fuller's door, wanting to hear more of the private discussion. They were returned with more silence, a few bangs, but otherwise silence.

Hanson was the first to turn back around, deep in thought. There were many things to be distressed about, but what had riled Doug? What had upset him to go and talk to Fuller? It could possibly be last night, Tom was almost sure it was, but then _he_ had been the one on the receiving end of the 'domestic fight,' not Doug. _He_ should be the one talking to Fuller, not him; but Tom never would; after all, Doug hadn't meant anything by it and _he_ _had_ led Doug to hit him. It wasn't Doug's fault. He chewed on the end of a biro, accidentally brushing against his bruise. He flinched back with a sigh- this would take some getting used to. He still couldn't believe Doug had lashed out at him, and had it not been for the bruise, he still wouldn't have. Tom shook his head, enough dwelling, that got people no where. It was time for work.

He picked up the sheet to his left, a request to fill in the questions about his descriptions of two weeks ago, April 18th, a day after the case of the missing girl, Caitlyn.

_Your name?  
Where were you at the time?  
What were you doing at the time?  
Why you were doing the above?  
How are you situated with this victim (or other), day, date and time?_

Tom sighed, writing his name in slow, printed letters. He really couldn't be bothered with trivial paper work, especially one that he and Doug had been working alongside with, still were trying to. A young girl, quiet enough to go unnoticed at the high school they were attending, had recently 'gone missing,' though most thought it to be a kidnap or murder. Doug and he had been working with a drug group that had flimsy connections with Caitlyn. One of the older boys had a locker near hers and a little bargaining had started. She would supply answers and a few distractions if they kept everyone off her back. It had been mutual, friendly and basic enough that Tom and Doug had no suspicions of anyone in the group, contrary to others opinions. Tom knew personally that Jake, one of the four other boys (not including Tom or Doug) had been very distressed over the whole incident.

_What were you doing at the time?_

Tom thought back. The bell had gone and they had all emerged from their different classes, Doug and Tom clearing a path as the younger students cowered back in fear. Getting nothing from their lockers, they had headed towards Jake Pepper, the oldest boy who had formed a type of friendship with Caitlyn. Then came Steven Lang and Michael 'Salty' Salthouse; brothers by everything but blood. They were the younger of the group but a good head taller than Tom, not that that was hard, he was the shortest, but only by a little as he so often defended. And then Luke Brawl, who lived up to his last name. Jeering and tormenting, they had left the grounds; without a second thought as to why Caitlyn hadn't been at school the last three days.

Tom threw his pen down; he should've seen it coming. Should've known something was wrong when Caitlyn, lover of school, hadn't shown up. This girl was so hungry for information she showed up when she was sick. He should've checked into this more, should've known.

"Hanson! Get in here!"

Tom was thrown from his musings by Fuller's voice. Wearily he heaved himself up, heading to the beckoning voice. He passed Doug and managed a weak smile, wishing the conflict between them over; but Doug didn't even glance at him, simply walked out of the office all together. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced a last time over his shoulder before closing the door to Fuller's office.

"Sit down Tom."

He quirked an eyebrow. So it was strictly business then, no cup of tea or scone. He did as he was asked, sitting down and trying not to fidget.

"That's some bruise you got there," there was a tone in his voice that Tom did not like.

"I only go for the best," he forced a side smile.

A tense moment passed where Fuller shuffled through some papers, finally letting them fall into a sloppy pile. Hands folded he stared at Tom. "Doug wants off the case. Doesn't want to work with you."

Each word was like a bullet through his heart. He was sure there was a more eloquent way to put it. He stumbled a bit over his words, unable to form a sentence. Doug didn't want to work with him? But why? What had he done, other than last night? And that had been such an accident, a stupid accident on his behalf. Couldn't Doug forgive him for that?

"W-Why?"

Fuller sighed, "I don't know Tom. He said for personal reasons he'd like to be pulled off the case, something about consequences of his actions-"

A flutter ran through his heart, hope soaring. Doug was scared he would hurt Tom again.

Fuller sighed again, "-that would occur if he wasn't, ah…separated from _certain_ people…." He wrung his hands, knowing that the implement behind Doug's words was more than clear.

Tom's hope fell, shattering into a thousand invisible pieces. Doug wanted to be away from him, because he couldn't stand him. Had what he'd done been that bad? Had it been so inexcusable and unforgivable that Doug couldn't stand the sight of him? Had Doug Penhall finally had enough of him, stopped loving him and instead Cynthia?

"Oh, yea, a-, sure, yea, cool…whatever. You know, that's…fine." He let limp hands fall on his knees, "Sure, I mean, if that's what he wants he'd know best and hey, you know, a break could be good."

The older man sighed, able to see the pain in Tom's eyes, "May I ask you something Tom?" he received a nod and continued, "What exactly is your relationship with Officer Penhall?"

Tom swallowed, taking a moment to reply, "Just friends…at least I was pretty sure we were." Tom looked up into a skeptical look, quirked brow, "Honest Captain."

"_Hanson_."

He sighed, his thoughts muddled together. It was one thing to be hit by someone you loved, but then to have them break of a connection you both shared and loved, and so soon after yesterday's perfect morning. A morning where Tom had thought life couldn't get any better. And he was right, it only got worse.

"Would it matter?" he hated the defeated tone in his voice.

"No, not really," he stood, walking towards Tom, sitting on the end of his table, "It's just that he seemed pretty heated this morning, pretty determined not to be involved in this case, purely because of you it would seem. And you come in this morning with a shiner in a fairly unusual spot." He raised a lip slightly, "Especially for a door to hit."

Tom turned his head, trying to hide the fault on his face. "You heard?"

"How's Booker dealing? He does consider himself a ladies man."

"Fine," he turned to smile sheepishly, then it changed, "Really, sir, we're okay. It's probably just nothing. He's a little sick of me, I can be annoying, you know?"

"I do," he smiled his own, "I'm just concerned for my Officers, I can be considerate sometimes. I'm not always a yelling man." "Thank you," he was sincere.

"So what is your relationship?"

Tom cast his eyes down, "I don't know," he whispered, "I really wouldn't know right now." He wanted to cry then and there, cry for so many things over so many months. The trouble he had gotten into, the loneliness he had felt even with Doug or friends, then the disappearance of a beautiful, innocent, sweet girl, Doug's love, Doug's hate, the fight, the punch and now today. It felt like too much for him.

"It's alright Tom," he patted the officer's shoulder in concern, "Don't worry about it. Just about what's in front of you."

Tom nodded, pushing back the empty feeling, "So what happens now?"

"You work with Booker."

"…Oh…"

- - -

"No! No! Forget it! Just freakin' forget it!"

Tom sighed, shifting impatiently at the side of Bookers desk, "C'mon. I'm not exactly the cow jumping over the moon right now, this isn't my idea. If I had my choice you wouldn't even be here, but for god's sake, get up and get a move on." He knew his voice sounded hollow, shy of all the usual emotions he crammed into it, but he found himself uncaring. He only cared about Doug and what had happened to them.

Booker stood, rage filling his eyes, "Damn you Hanson. You screw everything up! I was perfectly content here."

The words hurt Hanson more than he showed; perhaps this was why Doug hated him so. He screwed everything up. "Yea, yea," he spoke tiredly, "Just move your arse. We're going door knocking."

"Oh, what fun," he replied icily, pulling on a jacket, "Haven't done that since I was a kid."

Tom pushed open the door, holding it for Booker, "I don't want your life story, just get a _move_ on."

"Patience Tommy," he replied snidely.

Tom ground his teeth, resisting the urge to let the door fall back and smack Booker's face. He paced down the steps, a few in front of Booker and headed outside. Booker followed shortly, breath coming out in wispy clouds of fog, making for the car.

"No."

"What?" he stopped short, annoyed.

"We take the bus. If anyone recognizes me, or you, they'll know the car. And on the off chance they follow us…" he moved on, steps crunching on the ground, "We take the bus."

Booker's hand clenched, eyelids closed shut, "Serenity now," he murmured. Louder, "You better know what the hell you're doing. I don't wanna end up in the middle of New Mexico."

Tom brushed him off with a wave of his hand, a few meters ahead. Booker jogged to fall into his step, "Seriously. If I find myself where I ain't meant to be…"

Tom ran a hand through his hand, uncaring. His thoughts were still of Doug. He couldn't let this go, not this. He had to figure this out, make it work. He needed to piece together the black and white pieces of a love shaped jigsaw.

"_Hello_??"

"Hi." Hanson replied automatically. He stopped his steps, staring confusingly into Booker's amused eyes, "What?"

"Welcome back to the land of the living. See Alice and the white bunny? Or perhaps you paid a visit to the Mad-hatter; after all, you two share something in common."

Tom stared into demonic eyes, "Shut it." He restarted his footsteps, too tired to deal with insolence.

"Ooo, someone's cranky." He laughed bitterly, "Don't worry, I know how you feel." He smiled at Tom's risen eyebrows, "Yea, 'course I do. Been down that path before. You get into a brawl and the next day you feel like shit, can't believe it happened, don't know, or can't remember, why it happened and you're not sure who won. All you know, is you went down with some bruises, a bit of tenderness and you just hope you did double to the other guy."

Tom managed a smile, "Yea…" Booker wasn't far off.

"What's happening with you and Penhall?" he was pushing into unfamiliar, but curious, territory.

Tom shrugged, unfazed by the sudden topic change, "I don't know. I think I've just been real annoying lately. I can be like that."

There was not the tone of laughter like Tom had expected, but seriousness in Booker's voice, "Hanson, don't flatter yourself. You can't have been the cause of Penhall's distress, anger, loathing and solitude all in one morning."

"Yes I can." He forced the ache in his heart away.

"No wonder they hang shit on you behind your back," wild orbs flashed into Booker's, "Yea, they do. And can you blame 'em? You're so soft, subdued, and meek. You let people boss you 'round, even if you say you don't. Sure, you go against Fuller, you're a bastard to me and a whole bunch of junk that we're arresting kids for, but if you love someone, if you care for people, you let yourself be walked all over."

"I'm sorry," he met Booker's questioning gaze, "for being a bastard to you. You're just…" he didn't know what.

"Find to wind? So are you. Forget about it. Just…" he didn't know why he was saying this, but he had to, by some pushing force of nature, "Just don't let Penhall bring ya down, he's a jerk."

Tom bit his tongue, he wouldn't mention that Booker had also been a jerk, bringing him down, for so had Tom to Booker.

He smiled wryly, "I know." His hands dug deep into his pockets, "I can't help being like that," he referred to Booker's previous comment, "It's just that Jump street has become so involved in my life, you know? And I really care about the people there, and they affect me in everyway and I guess I'm happy to let them walk all over me. I never really had the proper 'American family,' and so far Jump Street, all you guys, are the nearest thing I've had to it. I'll do anything not to lose it, you know?"

"I know." He slowed his pace, Tom following, "I feel that way sometimes too. That your entire life revolves around five other people plus Blowfish and that without them you're really kinda non-existent. You love to hate everyone there, love to drive them round the bend, but in the end…" he trailed off.

Tom nodded, remembering past events, "You'd rather much spend a Christmas with them, no pudding, eggnog or tree, but just them. Instead of a gossiping, overwhelming, forced Christmas dinner with relatives you only see once a year."

"Yea…"

"Yea…"

Tom stopped at a bus sign, wishing he was at the one a two hundred meters done. The one with the shelter. Booker stopped alongside him, "We're not so different Tom," he said quietly, "Stop trying to make it seem that way."

**. **

Toying with this idea, but…

Tom may start falling for Booker, as hinted in the last line. And Doug of course won't be too happy about that, he still does, somewhere, love Tommy. Trust me; he has a reason for all of this aggressiveness, a valid reason...kinda.  
But between admitting that reason and telling Tom, what happens between Booker and Tom? It's not all good I assure you.  
…Now, I'm just playing with it, but let me please know what you think of it, or any suggestions about it. I'm not sure how many people dig the whole Booker/Tom idea.

Again, thanks for your kind as words. Always appreciated and loved! XD


	4. Electricity

**Disclaimer: **I own the vintage style telephone booth moneybox that holds the sum of ten cents in it. A clear money saver as you can see.**  
**  
**A/n:** Thanks so much for the reviews and kind words. I have decided to include a **Booker-Hanson** relation ship in here, **BUT**, -isn't there always one- It will basically consist of Tom unsure of how he feels and what he's feeling and for whom, and a little smut XD. He still **does** love Doug, (who couldn't?) But he's just very confused by it all, and Booker isn't helping. I just see Tom as very vulnerable sometimes, uncertain and a trapped little boy, but then he can be _completely_ the opposite too. So yes, there will be some sort of relationship with Booker and Hanson.  
I'll be quiet now…

- - -

**To be Used  
**  
**Chapter Four.  
Electricity.**

"Of all the streets, of all the towns, of all the places in America, we get the street that's strictly business, "keep-to-yourself," no-gossip or fornicationtype of street. Dandy."

"I know.

Booker kicked at a pebble, rain dripping down his nose, "And now it's starting to rain. Again."

"I know."

"And we're back to where we first began, with no new information. This really, really sucks, what did Fuller think he was playing at?!"

"I know." Came the monotonous reply.

Booker took a side glance at Tom, "you know a lot, dontcha'?"

"I know," he turned to face Booker, "and I also don't care." A smirk played on his lips.

It did not, however, amuse Dennis, "Ha-Ha. God you're a wank sometimes."

Hanson's eyebrows rose, "Thanks," he muttered, "at least I don't enjoy a wank…" the grin could not be concealed.

"Why do you have to be such an ass?" The rain had once again turned into vicious hail stones and both Officers were using their arms to shield their faces.

"Why do you?"

"No, seriously, why do you have to be one? I try and make a situation a little lighter, I start up a conversation, try and make some banter and all you can do is snob me off."

He pulled a face, "I'm not snubbing you."

"You are, and you're doing it now. You're so dismissive, so exclusive. Like the whole world revolves around pretty little Tom Hanson."

They made it to the shelter, thankful for the relenting bullet like pellets against their limbs, "I know it doesn't revolve around me, and I don't make out to be. You're just insecure."

"Me? _I'm_ insecure? That's rich coming from you." He continued after Tom's risen, accusing eyebrows, "You follow Doug around everywhere. If Penhall wants to do this, then you do it, if he likes this, then you like it. If Penhall hates something or one, then so do you. If he wants Indian, even though you dislike it, then you'll stomach it. At the chapel all you can do is follow him around like a lost, injured puppy, and even now I bet all you wanna do is make it to Doug!"

Tom scoffed, a slight blush, which he blamed on the cold whipping air, coloring his pale skin. He would not let Booker believe that at this moment all he wanted to do was make it to Doug's warm embrace, curl up beside him and snuggle into the sweet scent that was Doug, and let the strong, muscular arms hold him tight.

"'Bout an hour ago, you were a perfect prince charming. So polite and nice, even kind Booker, _kind_," he stressed, "What happened?"

Dennis muttered something and brushed Tom off, turning his back on him, "I realized how much of an idiot I was. Why I thought of giving you a chance…"

Booker's trailed thought perplexed Tom and he carried theses thoughts and words of Booker's on the bus ride back to the chapel.

"What did you mean, 'giving me a chance?'" His soft voice broke their tense silence.

"Nothing."

"No. You meant something. Giving me a chance on what?"

Booker sighed agitatedly, "For Gods sake Hanson, leave it. It was nothing, just a flippant comment."

He mumbled closely to himself, leaning back in the chair, arms folded, "Didn't sound like nothing to me…"

"What?"

A smug smile, "Nothing."

Bookers neck fell back, eyes rolling, "Can you stop acting like a three year old for once!?"

Tom smirked harshly, sticking an elegant, soft pink tongue at Booker.

"God, you're infuriating." Again, the tongue was stuck out and Booker resisted the urge to grab hold of it and capture it with his own mouth. "Grow up!"

"Just tell me what you meant and I'll leave you alone!"

"Does it really mean that much to you?"

A childish nod, his eyes wide and bright, "Yup."

Booker glared; an unpleasant glare that, if Tom had been paying more attention, would've sent him cowering under the gum ridden chair. "You really wanna know," another nod, "really?"

"Now who's being the child?"

The glare only deepened, a new darkness emitting from Booker, "Fine."

Tom smiled, believing he had won, "Well…"

Bookers gaze softened and he turned away to face the rain speckled window, a distant look in his eyes. He may as well tell Tom now, if he and Doug were in a fight, it may be his only opportunity. "I said, before, you know…"

Tom's face faltered, he hadn't seen sides of Booker were he became soft and childlike, insecure and afraid. He nodded to himself, forgetting Booker couldn't see, waiting for him to continue. "Yea, I know…"

"I was just saying that, well, that…" he sighed heavily, he had already started, he may as well finish, "that I don't know why I thought I could give you a chance, that why you would ever….you know…the way…" he scrunched his eyes in anger at his weakness, then turned to Tom, "I don't know why I thought of giving you the chance to like me, the way _I_ like you, because clearly Doug owns you."

Tom's world seemed to freeze, the furious pace of buildings and cars outside the window coming to a slow halt. He stared at Booker, waiting for the smile, the bright eyes and the, 'fooled you,' but nothing came and Tom knew that it wouldn't ever. Dennis Booker was dead serious, and very distressed.

"Nobody owns me Booker."

- - -

Tom walked in slamming the door open, Booker followed closely behind him, slamming the door shut. They stalked heatedly to their desks; Booker falling as gracefully as an elephant into his chair, Tom slamming and opening drawers. Fuller stood opposite Judy in mid speak, papers raised half way up in hands.

"What-"

"Don't even ask."

"Don't even go there."

"We got nothin'," Booker kicked his legs up on the desk, "Up and down the god damn street for two hours and nothin'."

Fuller raised a questioning eyebrow at Tom who nodded in confirmation.

"You must've found something. A clue, a link, a word…"

"Nothing Capt'n," Tom slammed the top drawer closed, holding close the precious Snickers bar, "They're as involved with their neighbor as they're involved with their dogs shit; they pretend it never happened and make excuses."

"Eloquent Tom," Judy's amused smile shone from behind Fullers larger body.

"His parents found him in a milk bottle from the milk man, what do you expect?"

Tom's heart lifted with pride and love, a smile on his face at Doug's playing words and slanted, welcoming smile. It didn't matter what had happened before, that Tom now bore the mark of last nights aggression, he still loved Doug as much as he always had and that probably wasn't going to change. Not for anything or anyone.

Except now there was Booker.

"Thank you Doug, my how my ego and self esteem just rose sky high," he glared playfully, "Guess I'll be having this Snickers bar all to myself then…and the rest of them too."

Doug's face faltered in amused disbelief, "You wouldn't"

"I would."

"No…"

Tom smirked; peeling the wrapper down a further inch or two; full, rounded, soft lips arching in a graceful circle. Slowly they closed over their prey of the Snickers bar, taking a worthy bite before gently pulling back the moist, chocolate tasting lips, bringing them together with a soft smack. He closed his eyes briefly, opening them again as a lean finger trailed at the corner of his mouth, brushing away the crumbs.

Doug stood watching with fascination, mouth open a gap, eyes glazed. Tom knew right where to get Doug weak at the knees. Tom threw a glance in another direction, falling upon Booker. It would seem that he could also make Booker go weak at the knees. He tossed his head to the side, sucking gently on his finger, and Judy as well it would seem.

It was only Fuller that did not seem to care, rather contrary to the fact; uncomfortable and edgy.

"If you will stop playing your little games Tom, maybe we can get some work done around here."

Tom nodded, still sucking the finger, "Yea? What now?"

Fuller swallowed, uncomfortable at the three officers staring almost in desire at the small, young Officer opposite. "Just get some paper work done, go over everything again, maybe you missed something small. In the morning we'll get straight into this; most of the days wasted now."

He made to leave the room, heading to his office. A soft rustle brought him to a turn around. Only Tom had made to move, the rest were staring blankly, Judy's hand twirling a curl methodically. "That goes for all of you," he voiced.

"Huh."

"Yea?"

"What?"

A chorus, "Oh…"

- - -

"Yea, yea, see you Ioki." Tom waved to the disappearing figure.

Judy bounced up to him, grabbing his shoulders gently and pecking his cheek, "See ya tomorrow Tom. Don't stay up watching those crappy horror movies."

He pushed her off playfully, "They're not crappy….they just have a low movie budget." Judy hurried down the steps, shaking her head of curls in amusement.

Doug came to sidle next to Tom, waving and calling out to Judy and Ioki. They stood there for a while, Tom's mind focused on every curved inch of Doug, every beam of light that caught his skin in a soft glow. It wasn't until Dennis walked by that he was shaken from his stupor.

"Bye."

Tom stared; a little uneasy at the lack of emotion in Booker's voice, "Yea...bye then"

Booker nodded and then glanced almost hatefully at Doug and back to Tom with a despaired look. He shook his head, back pack slung over his right shoulder, heading to the stairs. With a quick cast back, he shook his head to Tom in distaste and made another motion towards Doug with a scolding scowl of piteousness. It was clear what Booker was implying. _'You're owned, no matter how much you deny it. Look, there's your 'master' keeping an eye over his 'dog''_

Tom broke the connection, looking over to see Doug glaring hard at Booker in a "you-stay-away-" manner. As Booker made his way down, the door closing behind him, Doug slipped a hand around Tom's waist.

"And then there were two."

Tom couldn't help but smile and fidget a little as Doug's sensational fingers crawled over his waist, slipping under his top to brush tentatively on his skin.

"And then there were two," he repeated.

The larger, stronger hand guided Tom away from the door and over to Doug's desk. "I can name a few things two can do," he turned into his younger partner, hands on his hips, forehead resting on his.

"Yea? Like what?" He let the hands grip him, running soothingly over him in a methodical manner. Submitted to the sexual pleasure it was arising in him, he leaned in further, brushing his nose with Doug's in tender Eskimo Kisses.

"Well…they can go canoeing for one…" he grinned with Tom's grin, moving his head to plant a trail of sweet kisses along his neck. "Or they," he sucked on the collar bone, tongue licking in the dip, "can play tennis." He let his tongue lick up Tom's neck, following the aching arch Tom formed as his hormones stirred, "Or they can go tango. But I think the best thing they could do," He sucked just under the jaw, lips meeting and leaving as the tender skin of Tom's was trapped between, twisted and pulled sweetly, "is to play a little tonsil hockey."

Tom moaned into the embrace; an arm running seductively down his back, the other curled alongside his waist. The knee between his legs keeping him secure, jolting up every now and again to make Tom jump in desired lust. Their lips brushed and Tom was unaware of Doug heaving him onto the desks edge as their lips joined, the soft, moist texture blending with the others.

Tom opened his lips, giving Doug possession of the mouth, letting him abuse it. Their tongues linked briefly, before he felt Doug's run over each fine point of his teeth, always going back to link with his tongue once more. Doug's lips drew back, sucking on Tom's plump, swollen one. He sucked harder, hand running down Tom's back, across his tender arse cheeks to close around his fly, yanking it hungrily down.

A yelp was muffled into Doug's mouth as two, sharp canines' pierced Tom's already bruised lips, blood spilling in slow trickles. In hard driven lust, Tom's arms trailed around Doug's neck, fingers tangling in Doug's hair, pulling hard. His body jolted as a hand rubbed his genitals, poking into the elastic band of his boxers and squirming in, fingers brushing with feather like softness across the moist skin.

Toms back arched, hands tangled into Doug's hair, a hot, almost pained, moan escaping him, "Do-ug, not here, _Do-ug_ , oh god, c'mon, we're still at work."

Doug grunted, hand enclosed around the head of Tom's member, rubbing furiously, "Its after hours, no ones here, but ol' Blowfish and he-" he grunted again, thrusting his hand with Tom's triggered jump, "won't lock up for a while. We're fine."

Tom didn't speak, didn't nod, just let his head arch further back, neck strained. His eyes shut, mouth a gap, a soft moan emitting from him. His hands fell, falling onto Doug's shoulder. Fingers pawing at the material, clenching the soft white fabric, a leg loosely bent on Doug's hip.

"Wanna-" Doug found himself moaning at Tom's arousal, "Wanna go for it?"

Before he could reply a loud snap and bang jolted them. Tom's eyes opened immediately, Doug's hand slowed its pace, both panting heavily. He watching the ceiling lights sway under his unfocused vision, laughing at his fearful, pounding heart, waiting for Doug to continue. After the moments wait he trailed an arm around Doug's neck, whispering softly for him to continue, not to worry about the door that had slammed shut, and that, while laughing softly, there was so much more to be done.

The door slammed again, an agitated cough following. With his hand halfway down the front of Tom's pants, Doug froze; eyes wide. Tom's laughing came to an abrupt halt, turning his neck wildly around to mimic Doug's look of horror. Slowly, Tom's hand dropped from around Doug's neck, rubbing his own in nerves. Doug straightened a little, slipping his hand out of the boxers and pants and adjusting his shirt collar in a gesture of keeping his little dignity. Eyes never leaving Fullers, he slipped his hands around Tom's waist and helped hoist him down of the desk, Tom gripping the edge and sliding down, eyes averted from the two, embarrassed and ashamed.

Fuller stood there in shock of his own. "Just, get out."

"Captain."

"Captain."

"I don't want to hear it," he took two steps that faltered shakily under his weight and placed the held papers on Judy's desk. "Get out of here." The event he had just witnessed had rattled him. Fuller wasn't one to disapprove a male-male relationship, but he wasn't exactly the fondest of heart for it. What had rattled him was that it was two of _his_ officers, after hours, in _his_ 'station', Fuller's second home, doing…_that_.

Tom shuffled a little, waiting for Doug to follow him to the door, "Sorry," he weakly apologized.

Doug gripped Tom's wrist, halting his movements, "Captain…Look we're sorry for…this, but we just, you know, it…" he stared into Fullers questioning eyes, "Okay, it was inappropriate, but we didn't mean…You're not gonna take us off the force will you?"

Fuller stood staring into the fearful eyes of Doug's, watching his hand grips his partners- in more ways than one it would seem- wrist and rubbing it methodically, a gesture of nervousness. "We'll talk about it tomorrow." In all rights, he knew that he should report the two, yell a hell of a lot at them and separate them, probably even get their badges handed in, but he would never do that. Why ruin such a great crime team? A great undercover pair, or a friendship that he had to hide smiles from because of his duties? Why should he ruin a love, no matter how sweet, young or free it is?

Tom looked up, meeting his Captains eyes for the first time, a grateful smile on his face. "Thanks."

"Yea, thanks."

He nodded, pulling his tailored jacket around him, "Just get going." He kept his face stern until the two turned and left hurriedly down the stairs, a smile spreading as the door closed. Young love; he only hoped that each knew how important the other was, and just how much they both had. It would be terrible to ruin something deep they shared, and a friendship they'd formed.

- - - - - - -

"Did _you_ see his face!

"I really thought he was going to kill us this time."

"I saw his hands twitch…" Doug laughed, bringing Tom to his side as they walked to his car, hand limp on his hip.

Tom pushed further in to Doug wanting the comfort, "He scared the shit outta me."

"Same." They stopped short of Doug's car, late afternoon breeze drifting. "We could continue this, you know."

"I know." He parted from his lover, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, "Damn, look at my lip, its looks awful." Doug's reflection appeared next to him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Shit, that's bad," Tom touched lightly to his lips, running over the two old cuts and two new ones, "My bottom lips massive!"

A tingling sensation that triggered all his nerve endings caused his hand to stop in its actions, eyes to close, next to arch. Doug sucked below his ear, biting the earlobe, licking the outer shell. "It's still a gorgeous lip."

"Mmm" Doug could have said he was the new found King of England and Tom wouldn't have care; what mattered was the feeling of pure bliss Doug was giving him. He felt two hands snake down from his shoulders, following his slight curves, sliding down his sides, over his hips to rest at his thighs. His hands drummed on his thighs, making Tom agitated and needy, until they ran swiftly over to his crotch, pressing hard.

"My place?"

Tom shook his head, neck arching.

"Yours?" he whispered breathily.

Tom fought the temptation to say yes, instead untangling himself from Doug, "Not," he adjusted himself, gaining little concentration, "Not tonight."

Doug stared incredulously at Tom, "You're joking."

He shook his floppy hair.

"You're not?" Doug's mouth hung open, eyebrows raised, "Well…fine, alright then," A sudden anger. "Be a prick."

Tom's shoulder dropped a little, he hadn't meant to upset Doug, and he just didn't think he could cope with _this_ tonight. He was exhausted, tired, hurting and most of all confused- about Booker and last night- tonight really wouldn't help him. "Doug…"

"No, no forget it," he turned around, keys to the car, "I understand completely Tommy. We only do what Tom wants when he wants it."

Tom shrugged, ignoring the accusations, though they did not roll as easily of his back as he made it seem. Doug fiddled with the keys, yanking the door open, "Ill see ya tomorrow, if that is, of course, alright by you."

Tom shrugged again, "Should be. I'll let you know in the morning." His attempt of lightening the situation did not go unnoticed nor did it go welcomed.

"Wise guy, God you're difficult Tom." Each word Doug spoke was like a needle in Tom's heart. "You know I'm kinda sick of you." The sudden change of attitude was so large that Tom was only too concerned.

"You alright Doug? You seem a bit…outta it lately."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"I just mean," he stuffed his hands in his pockets, "Never mind. See ya tomorrow."

"Yea." The door shut, the loud bang and roar of motor reflecting Doug's mood. Tom was sure he heard some filthy words about him muttered under Doug's breath. The car reversed, screeched, then roared down the road, out of Tom's sight, left wondering what to do.

It didn't take long for the days events to run a short course through his mind, giving him his destination. With a little jog, he opened the door- jimmying the faulty lock- and started the engine, letting it purr for a while. He made a quick mental reference, remembering the address, and then reversing, disappearing out of sight.

**So where **_**is**_** Tom going?  
I promise you, there is a logical reason as to why Doug is acting like this, but that won't unravel until a little later.  
Please leave a little something…**

Also thanks so much to rubydoo, lynny and Deppstarr. I haven't responded to you, but just letting you know they're always appreciated : ) 


	5. Forbidden

**Disclaimer: **I own…nothing. **  
**  
**A/n:** Thank you all so much for the kind words and interest in this. Means heaps, and makes the enjoyment for this even higher. It's probably half way done now, not many more chapters to go, so please keep reading and reviewing.

_**Note:**_ Purely out of my own fault- I've yet to see the series, apart from you tube, - but I'm not sure what Doug owns; car or motorbike. I've been told- by a very lovable friend- that he owned a yellow car in the fourth series and definitely had a motorbike and did use a car sometimes. I've decided to do the motorbike, as it seems the safest too me, but if this is wrong, please tell me and I will change parts of the story, otherwise, Bike it'll be.

- - -

**To be Used  
**  
**Chapter Five.  
Forbidden.**

"Hi."

The door was pulled further away, revealing more of the hidden room. The owner of the apartment stood staring in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "Hi."

They stood facing each other, staring awkwardly, searching the others eyes for readable signs, hidden words. Finally, the smaller man shrugged. "Don't I get to come in?" His hair was damp and flicking at the ends, wet from the quick sprint he had made from his beloved Mustang up the cold steel, stairs and standing outside a tired looking door.

"If you want," was the uncaring tone back, a leather covered arm stretching further as he opened the door an inch or two wider, allowing the other man in.

"I'm sorry," he blurted.

Booker could seen no reason for the younger Officer to apologize and his brows knitted in confusion, then arched again as his coal eyes widened, a realization hitting him, "What did he do too you?!"

"Nothing! Please…" an unheard beg, his mask of joy slipping, "please Dennis, let me in."

- - - - -

Doug hadn't been able to dismount from his motorbike. He felt too much pain, too much guilt, too much hurt. He knew his behavior towards Tom had been completely unacceptable over the last few days. Knew it was making the younger Cop's head swim in confusion and making his heart ache, but Doug knew it was better this way than admitting the truth.

For the truth would only send Tom over the already far too close edge.

He squeezed the handles of the bike, the rubber burning under his palm, his looming apartment in view. He could go in now, watch a replay of last night's game, and binge on popcorn and hotdogs and fall asleep, today forgotten. Or he could go and find Tom, apologize to him and tell him the truth.

He sighed, the latter option was more confusing and painful, but it needed to be done. Yet how do you tell your once lover that you no longer love him, after so many months, that you no longer want him for life, that you're playing for the other team again?

It would only confuse and humiliate Tom, more so than it had already Doug. Hadn't he, Doug, just spent the afternoon fondling Tom, asking, begging, for Tom to continue and becoming enraged when he declined? He wasn't so sure what he wanted anymore. One moment he longed and pined for Tom, needing the body of comfort and warmth and needing to take charge of the vulnerable man he could be and then becoming aroused when Tom grew fiery, became strong and overpowering.

And then there was what made Tom up, the smell of Tom, the gestures and reserved smile for only him. He loved his laugh, his voice, and the full lips that formed into a desirable pout when he didn't get his own way. The view of Tom's body as he lay on top, thrusting his love into him, heart melting at the moans and mewls of Tom. He loved the golden glow of his accentuated body, the out line of stretching ribs and long-fingered, curious hands. He loved that all about Tom, yet he didn't _love_ Tom.

_"I've just been there for your enjoyment, your fun, your pleasure, but not love_" The words had been tattooed on the inside of Doug's eyelids. Tom was so quick to figure out, and just as quick to forgive and forget that all Doug felt was pure shame for himself. Tom Hanson did not deserve to be treated the way he had been. He had to end this.

Yet, he wanted more of Tom. He needed more. Tom was a beautiful drug, rare and illegal and full of beautiful things, beautiful doings and Doug was the addict, desiring more, wanting more, craving for more and doing anything he could to get it.

Even so far as to hit, abuse, his friend. His lover.

Doug still couldn't find an explanation for his actions, only that he was tired, angry and blinded by his mixed feelings that he had to keep quiet the man who kept asking questions. Questions about Cynthia. She was no one to Doug, just your average street prostitute and Doug, being unsure of which side he played for, had invited her over. She believed it to be more, maybe because of the words he had said to her, but Doug didn't want anymore from her. She had helped him make up his mind, and that was enough. This is why, when Tom had questioned the phone call, Doug had become embarrassed and upset and a little shove had turned into a hit.

But he couldn't tell that to Tom. Never; and Doug still wanted Tom. He just…_wanted_ him, for no reason but for wanting. Tom was the only man that Doug had fallen fall, had been aroused by and that had confused him to know ends. Didn't bi-sexual- for that it was he believed himself to be- mean you liked both sexes, not just one sex and one person from the other? Tom just had that affect, though, on everyone and Doug had been caught in his web.

This is why Doug had actually believed that the more he hurt Tom, the more Tom would start to hate him and then breaking up with Tom would be a little easier, perhaps Tom would even do it for him. It was unfair though, for both of them, to ruin something they had equally loved and cherished.

He started the bike, needing to find Tom. He had to tell him the truth, had to tell him why he was being a complete dick towards him. Maybe they could still have something, even if Doug had a girlfriend and Tom a boyfriend, they could always still have _something_.

_"I've just been a little toy for you." _Doug couldn't remember if he'd hit Tom after those words or not, but they had been part of the fury Doug had felt that night. Secretly, deniably, Doug thought of Tom as a little toy, and if they were still to have a chance, even after their respected ways, Doug would only think of Tom as a toy.

He revved the bike, spinning it around; something had to change about this situation.

- - - - -

"At least change into this, you're drenched and you'll freeze, and I'm not carrying an ice cube back to the Chapel."

"Thanks," he slipped neatly out of his own denim jacket, pulling off his red tank as well, throwing them to the ground with a wet slap. With stiffness, he pulled on the leather jacket of Bookers, noting it was several sizes to small for the taller man as it fit Tom snugly. "Girlfriends'?" He paused, correcting himself, "Boyfriends'?"

Booker glared, "Neither." His narrowed eyes, which had been memorized with the olive, smooth chest and hardened, chilled nipples, and ice tone keeping Tom quiet.

A mug of steaming coffee was placed in front of Ton, spilling liquid staining the cheap woods surface. Booker set his own mug down, the coffee darker and stronger, and then sat a little down the couch from Tom, hands wrapped around the coffee mug. Tom shrugged into the jacket, its warm lining sending shivers of comfort down his spine, before he too wrapped his hands around his mug.

"So…"

"Yea," Tom took a large mouthful of the burning liquid, letting it rest on his tongue like thousands of knives, then sliding down his esophagus as if he had swallowed a fireball. He repeated this again, hoping in vain Booker wouldn't ask the unwanted questions.

"Cold?" Booker eyed Tom; his wet hair, damp body, and occasional tremble of the shoulders. "I got a blanket if-" Tom cut him off with a shake of the head; he did not need to have these comforts and compassion bestowed upon him, especially when they seemed so forced.

"You sure? S'no trouble, you'll get sick and-"

"I'm already getting sick," he silenced Bookers next words with a glare, "And yes, I am aware, and no, I don't care if I get worse and yes, I appreciate it, but no _thanks_ all the same." He snapped, taking another burning sip from the mug.

"Right," Booker was clearly unimpressed with Tom's behavior. "You just feel like being a jerk."

Tom sighed, aggravated with himself, "No, I'm sorry…I just," he just what? He didn't even know, he wasn't even sure what he was doing, sitting on the couch of his enemy's home. It made little to naught sense to Hanson, yet somehow it felt completely right. "I'm tired," he concluded, allowing his weary mind to finally comprehend his exhaustion.

"Yea," Booker did not doubt that, but knew it was not all that was troubling the other man, "Is it…is it because of what I told you, on the bus, has that…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." He wasn't sure where the easy, calmer, more compassionate side of Dennis Booker was coming from but he knew, for at least this moment, it was needed.

Tom stared at his mug, watching the dissolving froth swirl in hypnotizing patterns, "No," he finally drawled, confusion evident, "No it wasn't I mean," he confusion worsened, "It's thrown me off a bit, you know? But I am glad you told me." He gave a little sigh then locked eyes with Booker, "I am glad Dennis. I'm just a little confused is all."

Booker nodded, accepting this, "I am too." He watched another violent tremble wrack Tom's body and he set his mug down, "I'm getting you a damn blanket."

Tom knew it was futile to argue, and only accepted the dark blue checkered blanket in a soft voice of thanks. He slung it around his shoulders, bringing it across his chest, wincing as the rough fabric dragged across his raw and bruised jaw.

"Okay?"

"Yea," he muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Knees pressed together to keep warm, "I'm fine."

"What happened Tom?"

Tom couldn't remember a time Booker had used his name without mocking or jeering him and he relaxed at the comfort, "Nothing, I'm just…really confused." And he was; about Doug, about him, about Dennis and about the missing girl.

Dennis' mind seemed to be focusing on other things though and he shifted down the couch to Tom, now easily in arms reach of him. "Who hurt you Tom?" His lean hand came up to capture Tom's jaw, thumb and forefinger running lightly over the assortment of colors.

Tom knew he should've pulled away, should've have resisted and accused Dennis, but he found that he wanted the touch, more than he needed it. Something in Booker's words had made Tom's heart wrench, feeling the agony he had long denied. Something about Dennis Booker made Tom feel completely at ease.

"He didn't mean it," was all he managed, leaning into the caressing touch. He could not blame Doug, he never could. Doug was such a strong part of him.

Tom felt the weight of the couch sink as Booker shifted closer, his thigh now touching Tom's. Dennis knew, even before he had voiced the question, who had hit Tom, but he suppressed his rage, playing along for Tom. "I think the person who hurt you," his forefinger came to run across the dry lips, "doesn't know," the finger lingered, parting the two lips, "what he's got."

Tom's throat felt dry and he swallowed heavily in nerves and adrenaline, "Yea," he croaked, body tingling.

It was all Dennis needed, and he pulled his finger away, slowly brining his lips towards Tom. He hesitated, giving Tom a chance to protest, to pull away, to leave; but Tom did none of those things and Bookers adrenaline increased.

Their lips met, tentative at first, but as Tom's latched onto Bookers, his own tightened and sucked on Tom's bottoms lip. Tongue running over the wounds, relishing in the sweet, metallic taste as blood spilled from the barely healed sores. He forced the lips wider, shoving himself deeper within, hands running to Tom's back, circling the shoulders and dropping seductively down to the small of his back. A clash of tongues ignited a ball of fire, and Booker felt Tom's arms swing around to latch behind his neck, fingers tangling amongst the dark hair, erection growing.

Booker knew he should stop, that the man he held so tightly and heatedly was not for sale, but he couldn't resist, was tempted by the devil, and would gladly accept all consequences if only for one taste of the forbidden fruit. He pressed his body closer to Tom's, their erections rubbing against another's, and Tom jolted, biting hard on Dennis' lip. A hand dropped from behind his neck to rest on his chest, fiddling with a button and Booker couldn't help but let his hand slip further down Tom's back to sneak under his arse cheek with a tight squeeze. It emitted another jump from Tom, and his laugh was muffled by Dennis' ravenous lips.

They broke apart slowly, panting heavily for needed air. A shy, embarrassed blush spread across Tom's face, and he lent his head against Booker's forehead, exhaustion hitting him hard. Bookers tongue ran over Tom's lips a last time, wanting to keep his bittersweet taste. Carefully, Booker pushed Tom away from him, letting him fall gently onto the couch, knowing no more should be done no matter how much he longed for it.

Silently, their breathing the only audible sound, Booker slipped an arm around Tom's narrow shoulders, needing to speak his mind. "Maybe, he doesn't love you as much other people do."

Tom nodded, so confused, vulnerable and guilty. What had he done? His shook his head slightly, he would not regret this yet he could not brush away the betrayal towards Doug he felt. He felt a tentative hand on his thigh, and he met Booker's nervous gaze. Knowing he had made a deal with the devil, Tom grabbed Booker's hand, savoring every breathtaking second. "Thank you, Dennis."

Dennis Booker never knew he could love his name like he did right now.

- - -

The only reason Doug had not spoken to Tom was because the latter was not at home, which was the reason behind Doug sitting on the steps to Tom's apartment, anxiety wracking him. He watched the cars drift by the apartment, a few coming in to the reserved parking bay, another leaving. None of them were Tom's.

Dough sighed, shifting a little, his elbows on his knees, face resting in his palms. Where was Tom? His gaze lingered on the shiny metal of his bike and decided that after tonight he would go and clean it; it seemed to be a target for the pigeons.

He shifted irritably again, a soft growl emitting from him. This was ridiculous. It was well after seven, it was dark, it was cold and it was definitely uncomfortable outside on the steps and where the hell was Tommy? It wasn't like he did much after work, went anywhere. Only bowling and Doug always knew when, and sometimes out drinking but that was with him. Sometimes to Judy's but Doug would've known, then there were the times he'd gone down to the pub to watch the game but Doug would've known about that, hell, he was the one that invited Tom down to those. So where _was_ he?

A flash of headlights blinded him for a second or two and Doug's question was answered. "Finally," he muttered. He glanced at his watch. Forty minutes, forty minutes he had been out in the cold while Tom had been snug and warm in his car. Worst off, Tom didn't seem to realize Doug was there.

Doug watched his partner climb out of the car, singing, or attempting to, some song from the radio. He seemed happy enough. "Well that's nice," he muttered again, irritated that while he had been freezing in the cold, alone and miserable, Tom had been having a good time doing what ever it was he had been doing.

Tom let the door fall shut, locking it securely. He was still unaware of the eyes watching him. He ran a hand down the bonnet of the car, admiring his prized and very much loved possession. It wasn't the latest car, definitely not the best, but it was his; a good, old classic car that took him to where his dreams lived. He turned away, heading for his apartment, still yet to look up. He blushed at his own foolishness after slipping on the wet ground, finally taking a glimpse at what was in front of him.

Tom froze, shocked at the man sitting- now coming to stand- on his steps. He broke free of his stupor and smiled broadly, a faint glimmer of hope for the both of them rising, "Hey."

Doug did not smile, did not embrace the shorter man. He remained standing, taking an intimidating step forward, hand reaching for the soft leather, stroking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"That's not your jacket, Thomas."

- - -

**Sorry if this seems a bit rushed and muddled, I did try though. Please let me know what you think.  
Thanks heaps to rubydoo and lynny, loving you two very much. And Tilly, I **_**will**_** e-mail you! Cross my heart, you know how I can be sometimes blush**


	6. Domestic Monster

**Disclaimer:** If anything resembles 21 Jump Street, chances are, they own it. Anything doesn't, i own it.

**A/n:** Guh! I love my reviewers! You've got this special way of making my say XD So this chapter's a fair bit longer XD

_**Important Note:**_ The _italics_ are **phone conversations** and it kinda switches tenses…. You'll understand it once you read on, I hope :S Let me know please!

There is a bit of swearing in this. Oh, and violence too…heh.

- - -

**To be Used  
**  
**Chapter Six.  
Domestic Monster.**

_"I won't be coming in to work today, sir."_

"Doug! W-What are you doing here?" He fidgeted under the strengthening grip of Doug Penhall's, now wary of his actions.

"Why?" he snarled, eyes bitter and hurt, "Been busy with someone else, Tommy?" He let go of the fabric, instead turning his hand to the jugular side of Tom's neck, running roughly down it as if checking to see if someone had tainted his possession.

Tom's eyes travelled down to the sleeve of his jacket, now suddenly very conscious of whose and what he was wearing. He felt a heated blush grace his cheekbones and he placed a hand on top of Doug's, "No, never Doug, never. I was just…I was wet and I…"

"Don't fucking lie to me Tom." His hand stopped moving, fingers now softly pinching the tender skin.

"I'm-I'm not Doug. I was just, I went to…I was cold."

He felt the arm travel to the back of his neck, fingers pressuring the neck painfully, "C'mon then," he uses his larger body to steer Tom around to the apartment, "If you're so cold, lets go get you warm then, yea?"

Tom's doe eyes widened with panic and fear and he hurried alongside of Doug, forced into the angle by the large hand, "Okay…" When had he become afraid of Doug?

_"Hanson? You all right?"_

"So-So what have you been doing, I mean, you were…how long have you been-" he fumbled fearfully over his words.

"Just shut up Tom." He struggled to jimmy the key in the lock, then, with a grunt and sideways shove, it faulted under his strength and swung open to hit the wall behind.

He felt himself being pushed heavily into the room so that he stumbled a little and narrowly missed the corner of the wall, "Doug, I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry. I didn't," panic swelled in his chest, adrenaline stealing his breath as Doug advanced, "Please, please Doug. Please don't."

"Where have you been?" his eyes were dark and daring, like devil eyes watching sinners turn helplessly to ash. "Who have you been with?"

"No one. No one Doug, please, you're scaring me."

"If it was no one Tommy, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?" His footfalls stopped half a metre from where Tom stood shaking in fear, "So why won't you fucking tell me!" he spat lividly.

"Booker," he squeaked, "I was with Booker." He felt the wall of his kitchen slam almost securely into him, his hands reaching out for the walls cool touch.

"Why do you have to do this Tommy?"

_"Yea, I'm fine. Just a little under the weather I guess."_

"D-Do what?" he wished so desperately that he could be anywhere but here, that he hadn't been so blinded that he could have foresighted this, all of this.

"Grind me up like this. Do you purposely try and rattle me?" his features suddenly changed to that of regret, almost pity, "Do you? Do you try to get me to hate you?"

Tom never liked the way Doug could change his features, becoming aggressive and loathing one moment, to regretful and teary the next. It had always been a bad sign, and more than ever Tom felt it was the worst sign. "No Doug, I never would, I never would. Please…"

"Please what Tom?" His voice laced in cruel sinister tones and deceiving pity, remorse.

"I-I...I don't know. Doug," he couldn't help the heave in his chest, the uncontrollable shake, the involuntary crack of voice as the first sob wracked him, "I'm sorry Doug." A tear pushed its way out, trailing slowly down his honey cheek.

"So am I Tom, so am I."

_"You sure? You sound a little out of it."_

Doug's mouth connected cruelly onto Tom's, reopening the wounds Booker had not long ago opened. Running his tongue over Tom's quivering one, canine teeth biting unforgivingly into his tender flesh. He sucked on the spilt blood, dragging his lips from Tom's, licking away the flowing liquid.

Tom's body tensed under the touch, an unforgiving touch, a touch so brutal that Tom had never experienced it from Doug. His mouth was unresponsive; body too fearful, tears spilling from his eyes as his hands clenched, legs trapped between Doug's thighs.

"I think I know what you two got up to."

He felt the warm breath hit his mouth, his own breath coming in shallow pants, "No Doug," his mind drawing to the conclusion Doug had, "No, it wasn't like that."

"No?" His hands came to pin Tom's wrists above his head, "Why don't you tell me then?" his breath hot and wispy against his neck.

"Doug, please…" he felt himself struggle weakly under his grip but he was too shaky, too pathetic to defend himself.

His mouth clamped onto his neck, lips twisting and pinching the skin, sucking greedily, ravenously, hatefully; tearing the skin, breaking it, letting blood dots rise to the surface. "You're such a bastard Tom, you deserve this."

"_I feel a little out of it, just sick Coach, nauseous, dizzy, you know the drill."_

"I-I didn't do any-anything!" he turned his neck from Doug's possessive clamp, finding himself disgusted and appalled at the situation, at his lover. His _once_ lover.

Anger and fury glinted in Doug's eyes, mouth thinned in a snarl, "Like Hell Tom," he rammed a knee between Tom's legs trapping him once again, letting the captured arms fall free, "Like fucking Hell."

He struggled through his own clumsiness to push Doug off, hands on his shoulders, using the little support he could lever off the wall to support himself. "Get off me Doug," his fear grew to anger, "Get the fuck off me!"

He raised his hand, finding himself for a second time unable to suppress the rage he felt, "Don't you _dare_ speak to me like that." He let it swing back then forth, connecting with the side of Tom's head.

Tom flinched under the contact, the sound of a muffled smack ringing in his ears, "Fuck Doug," he bit back the whimper and wave of tears that desperately yearned to be released, adding weight to his already pained heart.

Doug let him draw a hand to the side of his head, let him moan a half whimper; let him have tears run down his face though the sight was disgusting him, "You're so pathetic Tom."

Tom found himself relenting, energy drained and lost, heart already broken to bother repairing it. "Can't you just hear me out?"

"I'm listening…"

_"…Will you be coming tomorrow?"_

"I…I was so lost Doug, I went…I just drove around and I went to Booker's place. We just talked that's all."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

He didn't expect Doug's knee to move, pressure ceasing. He didn't expect to see Doug's eyes turn to empathy and understanding, just like he didn't expect the backhand that sent him crumpling to the floor. Just like he didn't expect, through blurred and puffed eyes, to see Doug's features once more change to rage and hate.

"You never could lie."

He drew himself up, trying to stand, though the shock and burn on his face kept him down. He ran a shaking hand through his messed hair, breathing shallow and deep, "Doug…" his voice lost and confused.

"Can you just shut up Tom?" he squatted down to Tom's level, adjusting, almost mockingly, his jackets' collar. "How do you think it feels to wait around for your love in the freezing cold only to have him drive up and not even acknowledge your presence 'till much later? How do you think it feels when the guy on the step knows the guy in the car was somewhere where he shouldn't be, doing stuff he shouldn't be doing?"

"I told you," he spat, "I didn't-I didn't," he faltered, trying to buy his own lie, "I didn't' do anything!"

A hand grabbed at Tom's slender jaw, gripping it tight so the skin pulled over the bone, neck raised in pressure, "I know you're lying Tom, and do you know how?"

"_Not sure, probably, I just...I really think it'd be better if I didn't come in today."_

He defined him again, gritting through clamped teeth, "I told you Doug, nothing happened."

Doug seethed, letting Tom's jaw fall from his grasp, "Yea?" his eyes darkened, features eerie, "Funny, because I know something happened. So why Tom may I ask, do you have to keep lying to me?"

"I-I" he choked, tears reforming and falling, sob lodged in his throat, "I told you I'm not-"

"Stop," he let his hand fall to connect with Tom's cheek bone, "fucking- Lying- To- _Me!!_" Each word punctuated by another hit, another slap, another knife to Tom's heart.

Tom's breathing hitched, now completely unable to control the tears, the loud sobs and dry cries of, "Stop, Doug, please." Doug panted next to him, eyes fixated on the fallen, curled form of Tom.

"Stop it Tom! Just stop it!"

_"You're probably right. Do you want me to send Penhall over? I think he wants back on the Caitlyn Case."_

"S-stop what?" he stammered, "I-I'm, I'm not doing anything."

"This! Stop this! Stop all the lying! I know you and Booker kissed, probably did more, but I know it! You wanna know how I know it!?" he waited, breathing deeply through his nose, for a reply. Not receiving one, he kneeled next to Tom, dragging him by the collar to a floppy sit, trying to get eye contact. "I can taste him! I can fucking taste the smoke in your mouth; I can feel were he tainted you, and you know what, it makes you feel disgusting! It makes you so disgusting"

"Doug," he begged, "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry!" his face felt swollen and raw, he briefly wondered if it was bleeding, "What else do you want me to fucking say?! I love you Doug, and I'm sorry, I fucked up, I'm so fucking sorry!"

He gripped Tom's head, their eyes now staring into one another; one pair filled with pain and sorrow, red raw from the tears they've shed. The other, angry and furious; pupils wide and daunting from the amount of hate they possessed. "You know what Tom?"

He shook his head in Doug's grip, a little nudge against the sweating palm.

"It's not fucking good enough." He let his hands slide over to the back of Ton's head, grabbing a fistful of the hair and then slamming his face forwards into the floor.

Doug pulled himself away from the body, mind broken from the trance he had encaged himself into. Horrified, he scuttled further from the crumpled body, the weak pained whimpers and soft sobs. "Oh God."

_"No …no, it's alright, I'll call him tonight. He's busy; it's really fine, thanks though."_

Doug gathered his running thoughts, aware of what he had just done. Shaking, he stretched a hand for the soft mop of hair. "Tom?" the body retreated under his touch, curling further into himself. "Tommy?" He pleaded.

The body shrivelled and whimpered, the sound of crying- like a young child- resounded off the bare walls, "D-Doug"

Doug felt his own tears well inside of him, trying to find the way to the surface. He breathed in shakily, fathomed by his actions, unable to recall most of them, "Tom…Tom, I'm so sorry, I'm so -"

Tom's body arched, pulling itself off of the floor onto his propped elbows, "Don't say it Doug, don't even-even think" he breathed heavily, shaken by everything that had occurred in the last twenty minutes, "think about it."

"Tom, I didn't-"

He pulled himself up, hand now supporting himself on the ground, other running slowly, delicately, over his face. A leg bent in the shape of an 'L' to his side, other tucked under his knee. "Just get outta here Doug, please" even now, furious and disgusted, he knew where his place was; beneath, just like it always had been, in every situation.

Doug's body pressed against the wall, head in his hands, heart beat in his ears, "Hear me out Tom, please, I came to tell you something, I had to, and it just, it just got way outta-"

"Doug?" his voice soft and delicate, back still facing Doug.

"Yea.

"Fuck off!" tone now violent.

_"Tom, are you sure you're okay? Is something bothering you? Is there anything I can do, anything to help you? You can tell me Tom if it's something serious, even if its not, you can talk to me; you know that."_

Doug nodded, understanding, he couldn't blame Tom for wanting him out of here, he really couldn't. He wouldn't even blame Tom if he shot him; Doug might even do it himself. He still was in shock of what he had done, how could he have? How could he have hit Tom, repeatedly, uncontrollably and with such a rage, such a temper and not even realize the damage? He was a monster.

"Yea, okay Tom. Sure, look, I'm really sorry. I…if you…"

"Just get out Doug, please, get out." He drew himself together, slowly picking himself up to an unbalanced stand. "Now…"

Doug nodded, clutching the end of his top, twisting the material in his hands, "Yea, 'course. I am sorry Tom."

"Yea…"

"You forgive me right?"

Tom stood, swaying a little before he gave a shrug of his shoulders, "Yea, sure. Why not? It was an accident, right?"

"Yea…"

He turned, giving Doug his swollen, slightly coloured face, "Cool…" a feigned small smile.

What got Doug to finally cave and cry was the small smile Tom had forced, even though his eyes shined of pain, his face streaked in tears; confusion, fear, agony and remorse all evident in those baby brown eyes of his.

Doug thought he might've actually broken Tom

"_It's…I…I'm feeling dizzy sir, I think it's best if I… lay down for a little, thank you though."_

"I'll be going then…" he made hesitantly for the door, as if Tom might call out for him and stop him, throwing an overbearing hug around his neck.

"Yea…"

"I know…"

Doug nodded simply, letting the door close softly behind him, guilt smothering him. Tom watched him go, watched him disappear. Listened to him rev the bike he loved, listened to his heart shatter over and over again. Listened to his heart beat grow louder with each second, the overbearing loss of control forcing him to his knees.

_"...beep-…beep-…beep-…"_

Arms wrapped tightly around him self, he cried helplessly, uncontrollably, undeniably into them. Glistening drops shimmering down his patch work face. Sliding soothingly down his raw and bloody, abused face.

He breathed in chokingly, shoulders shuddering. He felt so numb, so cold and isolated yet his warm body and throbbing head contradicted it all. He rubbed his arms as a night breeze drifted over him, finding himself falling to his side like a crumpled rose petal, hugging his body for the comfort he was denied. Tom never could forget this night, never.

_"-okay…"_

It was the night Tom had ever felt truly broken.

- - -

Fuller placed the phone down, confused and worried, anxiousness wracking him. It was unlike Tom to call in sick, unlike him to act…so…so void of himself on the phone. He wondered what had happened in the young Officers life that he had somehow missed.

He started as the office door smacked loudly, the tall, shadowed figure of Doug standing before him, hands in pocket, leaning heavily against the door frame, leg crossed. He turned, forming a smile to the young officer, "What can I do for you, Penhall?"

"It's loud today, isn't it." An idle statement.

"Yea."

"Do you remember how quiet it used to be down here?"

"No…" Fuller stilled the hands reaching for a pile of paper, now more interested in what the young Officer before him was musing over.

"No, no you wouldn't. It was before you came. It was quiet Coach, damn quiet. Good quiet y'know?"

Fuller nodded. It was the type of quiet that his throbbing headaches yearned for when the 'McQuaid' brothers were in town, or when Doug and Tom were being their usual idiotic ape selves.

His hands dug deeper into his pockets, "I kinda miss that quiet…"

"What's bothering you Penhall?"

He snapped his head up, eyes startled, "Huh? Nothing Captain, nothing, just a little bored."

Fuller's eyebrows rose, head lowering to the papers before him, hands regretfully grabbing hold of the thick wad, "No surprise there, need Hanson to keep you occupied." He didn't notice the growing eyes and fidget of body, "Just be grateful you're not doing paperwork son"

"Mmm"

Adam looked up, scrutinising eyes interrogating the Officer, "Everything okay, Doug?"

He nodded slowly, "like I said, bored a little." He smiled faintly, his thoughts once again to Tom and last night. To his full pent rage and bellows and lethal, accurate hits. Tom's chocked sobs and begs, cries and pleas. His face scrunched in fear, body cowered, and words…begged words…_Don't think of it Douggie_ He shook his shaggy hair, he wouldn't think of it.

He shifted uncomfortably on the wooden frame, catching the last part of Fuller's words, "Wha'?"

Adam sighed, "I asked if you knew what was wrong with Tom."

"Oh…No, why, he ain't coming in today?"

"No, says he's unwell." Fuller shifted uncomfortably, "I thought you may know as you two are…well," he cleared out his throat, determined not to finish the sentence

"Oh…No," he blushed sheepishly, "No, I'm not really sure…I'm sorry about yesterday too…" Doug spaced out, he wasn't aware of the damage he had caused last night, only mentally. He knew there'd be something though, a little bruising, some blood, a bit of swelling, but if the extent was that bad, that noticeable…Doug didn't want to know the damage, didn't want to know what a monster he had been.

"Cold?" Adam referred to the few shudders that had raced through Doug. He knew it was more though as Doug seemed to have entirely missed what Fuller had so embarrassingly spoken- about the two men's situation.

"No, no." he lent of the door frame, striding into the room, "Mind if I talk to ya a little, sir?"

His eyes narrowed. He had known that something was bothering Penhall, had known something was causing the younger officer to get anxiously antsy, and a small instinct in him told him that it almost very certainly had something to do with Tom Hanson. But being a man purely based on facts and evidence and a gut feeling that could at least be backed up by a minimum of three facts, he chose to ignore it. He would not make any false accusations or assumptions.

"Take a seat." He gestured to the chair.

"Thanks," nervously, Doug let his body ease into the padded seat. The two stared at another for a lengthy time.

"Well…" his annoyance had gotten the better of him.

"I was just wondering, you know, just needing to know," he tugged at a lose thread on his jacket, "Just sorta like, if you could help me and all, for a case and-"

"Spit it out Penhall," he was in no mood for childish stuttering.

Doug swallowed heavily, knowing it was too late to back out now. His mind turned on to over ride and sorted through every case he could think of that bared any shred of resemblance to what he was about to ask. Needing enough information to have a story set up if Fuller were to ask why Doug was asking the question that would almost certainly gather curiousness. Satisfied, he swallowed heavily again, leaning forward a little.

"What can you tell me about Domestic Violence?"

**A little too long perhaps… :S Just hope it wasn't a boring long.  
Love reviews **


	7. Survivor's Guilt

**Disclaimer: **Jump St doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the wonderful Stephen, who could have had some very raunchy story lines. I am just filling in the raunchiness where he didn't

**A/N:** I really didn't know how to start this chapter, and I think in all this is actually the worst one, so I really do apologise for that.

**Thanks: **Especially to _Lynny_. I forgot to thank you a ton for chapter fives review, but thanks so much luv, and for last chapter too. And _rubydoo, ihearttwojacks, Nina _and _Mags,_ thanks a bunch. Hell, to all reviewers, you really do make my day, I love reading anything from you, even one word!

And many, many thanks To _AllyTCBK_ who gave me the title of this chapter and the adrenaline and ideas I needed. Without her, well, this chapter would have a) a crappy title and b) be even crappier, if that were possible!

_And_, to lovely _NikkiCee- _thank you so much for the encouragement!

- - -

**To be Used  
Chapter seven **  
**Survivor's Guilt **

It took a long time for Tom to stop blaming himself for his father's death; and it was only with a lot of help, negotiation, consoling, counselling and a feeble agreement that he had been able to. After Amy's death, the guilt of not even ten years ago had resurfaced and fused together with the guilt of her death. It may not have taken Tom longer for him to stop blaming himself, but it had been a lot more dangerous than last time. Amy's death had meant he had a legal gun; Amy's death had clearly spelt out what you could do in three point three seconds. Amy's death had led to a lot of temptations he had pushed aside during his father's death.

Tom had, thankfully, survived the torturous guilt he had for years and months felt imprisoned in. Still, in all these years to have passed, and all the maturing he had done, Tom could never push aside the feelings of isolation, devastation, remoteness and guilt that had flared at the worst, and sometime best, of times.

All those feelings- shame, betrayal and guilt- had resurfaced, brining along a friend to keep company.

Tom truly felt broken, and who else to blame but himself?

Wasn't it he, Tom, who had deliberately, spitefully, gone to Booker's place? Wasn't he the one who almost _wanted_ Booker to kiss him? Shouldn't he have pulled away, knowing it would only upset Doug? Couldn't he have stopped it, prevented this. _Shouldn't_ he have prevented this? And hadn't he blatantly lied to Doug's face, denying the sensual touch, the gentle kiss, the enjoyment and arousal?

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, confused by his running thoughts. Somewhere, he knew not to blame himself, but years of guilt and shame had taught him different, and it seemed exceptionally reasonable to blame him self for this. He had evoked this on himself, had done nothing to stop it. Just like he hadn't helped his dad- and later distraught mother- just like he hadn't help Amy.

Anguished, he lifted up the oversized blue t-shirt- the one Booker had given him just before leaving, refusing to let Tom wear home just the leather jacket- and gazed transfixed at the raw tender skin where it had been grazed and broken, blood dots appearing and dried, smeared blood running over his ribs. Gently, he traced lean olive fingers over the assortment of colour that was slowly working its way over his skin, embedding the multi-colours into each cell. He probed at a rib and winced back in pain, a whimper on his lips. Somehow, the pain made it all the more bearable, all the more real. He felt stronger in a weaker way and weaker where he was once strong. It made no sense to Tom, but sense wasn't what he was looking for.

He was looking for answers.

Tom let the cotton material fall and let his nimble hands grip onto his wrists, where dark, finger like bruises had appeared. Courtesy of Doug's lethal grip and torment, proof of what Doug really was capable of. Studying hypnotised at his wrist, Tom felt nausea creep its way up, the acid burn sliding up and down his oesophagus. His stomach muscles tightened and on instinct he turned to his side, ready for the contents to spill over his floor. He dry heaved continuously. His stomach in agony, his chest tender and sharp with each attempt. The empty contents of his stomach allowed nothing but water and bile to surface its way up and Tom felt the hot sensation of tears prick the corner of his eyes.

'_Because clearly, Doug owns you'_

Tom had never considered those words to be as right as they were. He was owned and oblivious until now to it. Had it been as obvious as it was to Booker to everyone else? Was he owned by all and not just Doug. Was he a mere marionette for their enjoyment?

He felt sick, he felt dirty, he felt…disgusting.

_"It makes you feel disgusting! It makes you so disgusting"  
_  
His stomach continued to roll. Doug's words an echoing taunt, an echoing remembrance. He wasn't disgusting, no, he wasn't…he wasn't…he….wasn't…

A creamy liquid spilled over his lips and down the cotton t-shirt and Tom viciously spat it out. Tears ran freely down his tender and bruised face, and with a shaky hand he ran the back across his mouth. He hadn't meant to kiss Booker; he hadn't meant to rile Doug. He hadn't meant for any of this he had…he had just….he had…what?...

Maybe he _was_ disgusting.

Finally, his only rational voice seeped through the taunting, mocking ones and Tom distinctly heard, 'So what does that make Doug then?" In a wave, Tom felt an aggression that fuelled him to do what he had so timidly been denying himself to do. What his rational voice had been trying to get through to him, what his coward self would refuse to.

Grunting, he heaved himself off of the floor, glaring daringly at his reflection as he passed the mirror. He slammed the bathroom door shut and stripped, tossing aside the speckled blood shirt and mentally reminding himself to later chuck it out. He had to act now, before he chickened out and remained the docile boy he was sick of everyone perceiving him to be.

Tom had puppet strings to break.

- - -

"Domestic Violence?"

Penhall nodded lethargically; weary and tired from yesterday and the stress that had been slowly building on top of him for months.

"I'm, ah…I'm…" he furrowed his brows, agitated and confused, "I'm sorry Penhall, but why in Gods name do you need to know this?"

The excuse had been ticking over in his mind since he had set foot in the office, and the worst spilt easily and plausibly from his mouth, "The Caitlyn case. I think she was involved with a guy who's still at the school…"he paused uncertainly, "I just wanna make sure I…well I think he may be one of the reasons why she up and left, so I just…"

"You're not on the case any more, Penhall." Fuller was unable to keep the irritation at bay. It had taken an unwanted amount of paper work to transfer Doug off the case and Booker on and he was not in any means pleased to have the possibility of more paper work at his hands.

"I know that sir, I just…I think I may have a lead."

Adam Fuller sighed, "You think he may have been abusing her, Doug?" He could not afford to risk the chance of new, discovering evidence slip by because he was too unwilling of yet another case transferral.

"Could be the reason why she ran." Doug swallowed heavily. He was risking a lot now, by putting Fuller in a position to send out more information, false information, and false hope to the parents. It would cause trouble for the perfectly innocent boyfriend, the group Hanson and he had hung around with and when Doug got caught- for he doubted anything passed Fullers knowledge- the consequences would be severe. Yet Doug was persistent; he had to know if the doubts he had pushed so far inside of himself were true. That perhaps he was a Domestic…

"Doug!" Fuller's sharp tone cut him from his musings and he sat up startled, mumbling out an apology. "Penhall, you realise that discussing this matter further, laying out the evidence and suspicions you have, puts you back on the case?"

He nodded, ignoring his nagging conscience, "And Booker off."

"No, it won't."

"What?!" the thought of working with Dennis Booker infuriated Doug.

"His already made some more leads, knocked back some evidence and narrowed it down some. He's doing good, Penhall, and you can either jump back on and figure out your assumptions, or hand them to Booker to go and search what you already would know. Tom and he are doing fine."

Doug wasn't even aware of his hands gripping knuckle white to the chairs' arms, or the low emitted growl, "Fine, I'll work with _Booker._" He knew Fuller disapproved the venomous spite on Bookers name but he couldn't help the fury that bubble at the mere thought of Booker and Tom working well together.

"What time of Domestic Violence do you think it was, Penhall?"

"I don't know," he mumbled irritated, "That's why I came to _you_."

"You're going the right way to be taken back off of the case Penhall," with a forced pleasantry smile, Adam continued. "Domestic Violence occurs when a family member or partner attempts to physically or psychologically dominate another."

Doug nodded a gesture of continuance.

"There are many forms, but the most common are physical violence, sexual violence [abuse and emotional abuse" his back was straight against the chair, hands crossed. A position of sombre seriousness.

Doug nodded, a hand leaning against his right cheek, "Yea, I remember something like that from the Academy. They said something about dimensions or levels or some crap."

Adam nodded back, "Mode, frequency and severity. Mode determines the type, frequency how often and severity the extent. But they vary on reasons behind the dominant abuse. What category does Caitlyn's boyfriend fall into?"

"Mode?" he paused, unsure of how to answer, "I think it's emotional and sexual. There's never been a mark on her that I've seen," his lies were becoming bigger and scenarios of trouble were dancing in his mind, "and as for frequency, could be anything really."

Fuller sighed, "Any signs?" Domestic Violence was something that never had sat well with him; he never truly understood how love could be in such a form, be mistreated in such a way. After his divorce, he had learnt the main reason she had left him was because of the emotional stress and pressure he had placed on her and although he wasn't purposefully- she had worried about him being a cop- he could never shake of the feeling of guilt.

"He's angry all of the time," he smiled a little, "But then, so are you."

"This isn't a comical matter, Penhall." He heard the mumble apology and continued, "Classic signs are anger, threats, forcefulness, and sexual acts without entirely willing consent and property damage. Probably the biggest sign and clue is possessiveness towards the partner, a strong surge of jealousy and a need to keep the partner isolated for fear of them leaving."

Doug felt sick. He could feel his hands shaking and his hair line ridden with sweat. The idea that he could be an abuser scared him more than anything, and he willed it to go away, for the guilt to stop gnawing at him, but he knew, deep down, that there was something wrong with him and his behaviour. He just couldn't accept it though.

"What about verbal abusing?

Adam nodded, "verbal, physical, emotional, sexual, interrogational…it's all apart of it."

The overwhelming sensation to cry built inside of him, and a few hot tears pricked at his eyes, forming on the rim of his eyes, ready to trail down his face, "Why-Why are people like that?" his voice a trailing whisper.

Sensing Doug's distress Adam shook his head regretfully, "Unfortunately, no ones entirely sure. It's usually put down to psychological issues and a mishap in the childhood, but there's always something else." He sighed, linked back to a memory, "Sometimes stress and worry, some of the simplest emotions, are factors of it.

"I just…I –I can't understand it." Doug couldn't understand why he was like this, why he was acting how a described abuser was.

"No one really can, Penhall, not even the abuser. Along the line, something's gone wrong for the 'abuser' and they take it out on somebody they love. Somebody, on whom they foresee to be perfect."

Doug was quiet, almost traumatised by the information that he had heard. He regretted ever asking. He willed what he rationally knew not to be true, he prayed that Tom would walk in without a sickening mark, but he knew ti wouldn't happen. Tears flowed freely done his face until he was smothered by his own quiet sobs.

"Doug,?" Adam's voice was quiet and timid. Unaccustomed to seeing the gentle bear, the lovable man, so worn and broke. He left his chair and stood beside him, a firm hand on his shoulder, "Douglas, what's troubling you?"

He shook his shaggy hair, unable to voice the lies. Finally, after a length of forever, he forced himself to look into his Commanding Officers, wiping away the tears from swollen, red, eyes. "Nothing Coach, I just…I just…" he shook his head, "I just hate this with a passion."

He left the room, mouthing a silent thankyou and slipped away; leaving the taller man to believe that long ago, something horrible must have happened to Doug.

- - -

Tom stood quivering in front a door. His arms were wrapped around his body, hands rubbing the chilling skin. He shouldn't be here; he shouldn't be doing this, if he was caught…But what if he wasn't? If he wasn't he could stop all of this, but if he was caught all of this would only worsen…but if he wasn't…

Tom jumped from foot to foot, a vain attempt to keep warmth and nerves at bay. He had come this far, he was standing outside the mans door, all he had to do was go in. Go in, sneak around, and sneak out. It wasn't so hard.

But if he catches you… …

Tom swallowed heavily, taking a subconscious step backwards. 'Just walk into the apartment, you have the key, it's his home as much as yours.' He bit his lower lip anxiously, 'He hasn't invited you in though, he hasn't said for you to come. You have no right to be here.' Tom breathed in deeply, greedily, needing the icy air. No, he had come this far, he was going to do this. He wouldn't get caught.

He couldn't _afford_ to get caught.

He shakily turned the doorknob of Doug's apartment, entering it silently. Only after the door had softly clicked shut and he was certain no one else was in the house, did he allow himself to breathe. His cowardliness at bay, he heaved a sigh and with slumped shoulders walked around Doug's apartment.

Tom ran a light touch over tables and chairs, flicking through the pages of magazines and papers as he went. Everything felt so surreal to him. He had never pictured Doug-the lovable teddy bear- to take a sudden bend for the worse. Never imagined Doug could be capable of what he had been recently. Tom knew Doug could throw a mean punch, knew he could be jerk, knew he could easily kill someone with his bare hands, but threats and violence had always, _always,_ been aimed at the 'bad guys'.

So did that mean Tom was the bad guy?

He shook his head of such thoughts and sneered down at every worthless possession of Doug's. He could not allow such thoughts to filter through his mind. Cautiously- tossing glances over his shoulders to the front entrance- Tom sleuthed his way towards Doug's phone, searching for an address book of sorts. Tom didn't have to look though; stick-it notes and sheets of papers were sprawled over the table, covered in numbers.

"Jesus Doug," though Tom had loved everything about Doug, from his once compassion to his untidiness, at times like these, Tom wished Doug could be organized. Methodically, Tom searched over various numbers, looking for a name. He spotted his own name; Circled and marked, written over and over again on a single stick-it note. Some how, the small gesture made Tom smile and a flutter buzz his heart, and even the nag of yesterday didn't move the angled smile.

Then he spotted it.

With sweaty hands, Tom picked up the phone and dialled the hurriedly scrawled number.

'_Bring….bring…..bring……'_

He waited impatiently, foot tapping furiously on the floor. He searched outside the windows, praying Doug wouldn't unexpectedly turn up early from work.

'

'_Hello, Cynthia Legato speaking.' _Tom swallowed, closing his eyes, his free hand running characteristically through his hair. "Hi…I ah…I was…" he could hear her impatience on the other end, and he wished he had thought through what he was going to say. Stupid instinct. "You don't know me…but ah…"

'_You alright, baby? It don't matter if I don't know you. Remember _you_ don't know _me_." _

Tom frowned, puzzled. What was she on about? "No, I mean….I think….I just need to ask something."

"_Sure sweetie, anything."_

Tom could hear and almost see her seductiveness and slowly ideas started to tweak and Tom's confusion lessened. "Do you know a Doug Penhall?" He almost laughed at the shocked tone in her voice.

_"Oh….Ah…wh-…A Doug Penhall? Yea, sure, know him well. We caught up last week, a first timer with us. Great guy, really nice." Pause, "A little nervy, but he seemed pretty into it." Pause. "Why? You wanna make it a three way?"_

Tom gawped and blinked a few times, startled by the question and the smile he could almost see from her. "Ah…no, no …I just…" he swallowed nothing, "I just….I just need to know if you…you too are, well…are you going out with him?"

_'Hey, you alright there? Is there anything I can ah, _help_ you with?'  
_  
Tom smiled crookedly, "No thanks, you've been enough help."

He ignored her confused voice and hurried questions and hung up. Lost in his own thoughts. Why would Doug do something like that to him? Why, why the hell would he do that to him! Rage took control and Tom yelled aloud, an incomprehensible, yell of fury. What the fuck was Doug doing?! What the fuck was _he_ doing! Was he not good enough for Doug? What was so wrong with him that Doug had neglected and even abused him?! What the fuck was wrong with Doug Penhall!

He hauled the half full glass next to him and hurled it at the wall, watching it shatter into pieces. He didn't care though, he was furious with Doug, and it took a large amount of resistance to not ruin the rest of Doug's cheap apartment.

"Am I not fucking good enough for you Doug!" he roared to empty rooms, "Well guess what buddy, you're not that fucking great either!" his deep bellied yells reverberated off the bare walls and Tom was left with the dull echo of his voice.

Chest heaving, he headed back through the kitchen to the lounge, taking his last glance at the place he had spent so many months at. So many years. He cast his gaze at the bedroom and sighed, he couldn't even remember the last time he had been in there. The last time they had made out with desired lust and heated passion.

And Tom felt the overwhelming sensation to cry.

He had lost so much of what he had gained. So much of what, for years, he had been neglected of. He had lost the one thing he had thought he'd never find again after everyone that had ether turned him away or left him suddenly. He had lost love and instead acquired a form of abuse from a protector. He didn't think anything could sting as much as the day of his dad's death, but Doug's change, Doug departure, Doug's lack of love, matched it.

Tom couldn't help the feeling of guilt that smothered him. Somewhere, somehow he had done something wrong to upset Doug and he wished, hell he fucking prayed, that he could take whatever it was back. He still loved Doug, and he would do anything to have it aimed back at him. He finally averted his eyes and made for the door, maybe tomorrow, back at work, Doug would be better.

On his way out, he forgot about the shattered glass.

-I know that chapter was a bit of a bore, sorry for that; it was one of those chapters that had to be in here, or nothing makes sense. Things will pick up again next chapter. Please review, they always make me smile : ) Sorry about the formatting too, ffent is fucking with me, and theres a missed line before Cynthia says Hello, but every time i added it...poof. Same if i tired to bold this.


	8. Realizations

**A/N:** There are only a few chapters left! I will mention though that the last ones become a bit dramatic, angst ridden and a little upsetting. Though when it happens in the chapter, I'll let you all know before hand. Hope you enjoy :D

**Thanks: **Really big, massive thanks to everyone who reads this and follows it. Especially to those who take the time to review or put this story on alerts. It means so much, it's a great feeling and I can't thank you enough. Thank you, as always to the reviewers I can't reply to, _lynny _and_ rubydoo._ And _lynny,_ heh, oh yes, there's going to be more Booker/Tom, now especially for you. Give it time though, it's all part of a plan…

Also, sorry about the length of this. It's a little too long, so skim if you want. Ah, before I let you read, if anything seems to be missing in dialogue or wording, blame ffnet; it's having a joyous time screwing with me.

To Be Used  
Chapter Eight  
Realizations.

- - -"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home?"

"Home." Doug slung his jacket around his shoulders, collecting a few papers and a half filled cup of coffee.

Judy stared quizzically from her desk, glancing at the clock, "But it's three o' clock! You've still got another two hours left. And then "extra time""

Doug sighed, "Of doing what Judy? Sitting on my arse and rereading over some god damn case? Filling in permission forms of approval? Oh, what a fun two hours of my life that'll be." He kicked past his chair, "I've got better things to do."

Judy let her pen fall from her hand, taking another break. "You ok Doug? You're a little out of sorts today."

"I'm fine."

"Sure?" she looked him over sceptically, "You don't seem all with it."

"I'm fine, Judy."

She sighed relenting, staring down disbelievingly with a roll of her eyes, "If you say so." She stretched lazily, "Have, you heard anything of Hanson lately?"

Doug froze inside, turning slowly and anxiously around, "Of Hanson, Tom? Yea...ah, no…no…why?"

"Just curious, s'alll. Thought you might know as, well," she smiled cheekily, "You are an item all. You guys are really cute together."

Doug sighed in relief, "Yea, yea…thanks Judes…Look I should be going." His tension left him and a held breath was released, he had been worried then. He didn't want to be confronted with topics on Hanson, didn't want to attract any attention.

Judy, though, noticed his relief and called him back, "You alright?"

"I'm fine Judy, really I'm fine."

"You sure, you seem tense," she paused, mulling over her thoughts, "You and Tom okay? Getting along alright?"

It took Doug a while to realize that Judy wasn't referring about last night or previous times, but only in concerned friendship. His lengthy pause and fidget were all Judy needed to voice another question that had been plaguing her.

"You don't know anything about how Tom got that bruise do you?"

Filled with guilt and confusion, Doug stuttered out hesitantly, "W-Which, what…bruise?"

"Which?" she repeated dubious.

"Judy I gotta go," he backed a few steps like a meerkat escaping its predator unnoticed.

"You know something about that bruise, don't you!?" she stood from her desk, suddenly defensive of Tom. Although he appeared fragile at times, he was unexpectedly stronger willed and more violent than what appeared, but underneath it all, Judy knew there was docile boy hiding in the shadows and she always had the urge to protect that part of him.

"No….No, Judy, I don't…I really don't. He fell down some steps I think, I don't know…"

She glared, "He told me he hit a cupboard door."

Doug stammered, tangled amongst himself, "I don't know Judy, Jesus, give me a fucking break." He made to leave but was stopped by her words.

"What the hell did you do to him Doug!?" she moved from behind her desk in front of it, a metre behind Doug.

"Nothing Judy!" he looked blindly for an escape, "Nothing! I swear to God, I didn't touch him! I couldn't do that! I could never hurt Tommy." He trailed off …., fear and sorrow evident in his eyes.

Judy quietened, anger at bay, "You hit him, didn't you Doug?"

"No!" he almost pleaded.

"You hit him and then you let him believe it was his fault. You hit him and left him!"

"No! Judy, leave it…you don't know what you're on about."

Her anger grew again, "Then how the hell did he get that bruise!?"

"I don't _know!_"

She crossed her arms menacingly, "You're involved with the man for months and you don't know how he got a bruise like that!?"

"_Yes!_"

"That's pathetic, Doug."

"I didn't hit him," he pleaded, "I didn't hit him." He turned, flinging the Chapel door open and running down two steps at a time. Trying to escape Judy's accusations as she followed him out to the railing.

"I swear to God Penhall, if I find out you hit Tom, I'm going bury you six feet under!"

Doug bolted to his bike, desperate to get home.

- - -

Tom had thought about calling Judy, but found every time he went to the phone he only managed to dial the Chapels number and hurriedly place the receiver down again. He knew he couldn't confront Judy about his situation, knew he couldn't force his problems on her already weighted shoulders, knew he couldn't give her that weight to bear. Not when he knew they still shared feelings for each other. Even despite Tom being in a relationship with Doug.

He sighed restlessly. There was nothing to do, and had there been anything, Tom knew he didn't have the strength or energy to do so. He was too tired. Exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally. He felt ruined, like a truck had run him down without a second thought, dropping its unforgiving load onto him.

Tom passed the bathroom again and couldn't resist the nagging that begged him to look over at himself. He slumped in, feet dragging along the floor. In the yellowing light, he made out his own sickly yellow skin, eyes circled in black from exhaustion. The first mark that Doug had ever left on Tom slowly fading to a dull pink-brown. But there were all the other marks now. He had been grateful that Doug had avoided his face a little, instead aiming most of the beatings to his torso, chest and legs. There were cuts though, and a green-yellow-blue bruise on his left cheekbone which swelling was pushing up his eye slightly. He ran a hand over his forehead, under his bangs and felt the bumps of dried blood, the forming of a scab. The force Doug had used to slam him into the floor had been excruciating, splitting his forehead open instantly, leaving him sick and dizzy.

Tired of viewing himself, knowing the longer he stood the more he would see and then slowly he would work his way to his body where most of the damage laid, Tom left the bathroom. He circled his apartment several times, idle and fidgety. He needed something to do, something to occupy him, something other than cleaning his own blood from the floor, something to get rid of the one single thought that was slowly breaking Tom down.

Doug didn't love him.

Doug had been confused, Doug had hired a prostitute, Doug had liked her, Doug had stopped loving Tom. It was killing Tom and he couldn't understand why Doug hadn't just talked to Tom about it, hadn't mentioned something to him. They could work through this together. Tom shook his head flopping down on his couch, legs up, head resting on the arm rest. He wouldn't dwell on this, he just had to figure out a way to tell Doug that it was okay for him not to love him anymore- though it was the opposite- and that all Doug had to do was say stop and he would, without Doug assuming Tom had been in his apartment.

This thought alone startled Tom. He had broken into his lover's apartment, breaking and entering. But he hadn't really, had he? After all he did have the key, yet he didn't have permission, Doug didn't have knowledge of his arrival, so on a small technicality, he had broken into Doug's apartment.

Broken…

He'd also broken a possession, though worthless, of Doug's. He had thrown that glass; he had shattered it against the wall. He had left it there uncaringly, too angry at Doug, imagining that Doug was the glass. That Doug was being shattered instead of Tom, that Doug was lying broken on the floor instead of Tom. That-

'_Fuck.'_

He'd left the broken glass at the base of the wall, left its sharp pieces piercing into the carpet threads. Left it there…

'_Fuck, fuck, fuck'  
_  
Doug would know, Doug would know….He'd think he'd been robbed, then he'd know….he'd know Tom had been there and he'd come after Tom.

Tom's legs fell from the couch as he bolted upright, pain searing through him from the motion, head clenched in his shaking hands. _'Fuck'_ He was dead; he was going to die at the hands of Doug. Doug would be livid, he'd want Tom's blood, he'd…

_Oh God'_

Tom's head swarmed, the room spinning slightly, his stomach rejecting anything left in it. Blindly, he made his way to the bathroom, knocking chairs and books over. He reached the porcelain bowl and heaved, violent spasms wracking him.

Doug was going to kill him. There'd be no relenting this time.

- - -

"_Booker!_" Judy screeched, "Booker!"

Dennis came from down the fire pole, shrugging his jacket on arrogantly and walking with a flair of smugness that other male department officers wished for. "You called?" he smiled nastily.

"What the hell did you do to it?!" she made a gesture to her desk but refused to take her narrowing eyes off of him.

Dennis stuffed his hands in his pocket's looking over her outstretched arm to his destruction, "Destroyed it." He stated simply.

"_Why!_" she was beyond furious, beyond control. She wanted to throttle him.

"I didn't like it," he spoke slowly and clearly, patronizingly.

"I don't like _you_ but I don't come along and smash, tear and pull at you, do I?!"

"Baby," his smile grew, knowing he was about to step into _no man's land_, "You can do all that in my house, my room."

"I hate you Dennis."

He shrugged with a look of disinterest, "It was an ugly looking pot plant, smelt bad too."

"It was a present, Dennis, and it smelt nice."

Booker raised his brows, "Hey, Ioki, did that thing smell nice or bad?"

Harry looked between the two, not wanting to be apart of their dispute, "Ah, well…it…I…." he looked down at his desk, "I have paper work." He ran his hands through folders, looking for something, "Gotta fill in this," he took notice of the words, thing at Rocket Dog…"

"It smelt bad, Judy." He smacked his lips, "At least I let you keep the dirt…and the pot."

"In pieces! And what am I going to do with a pile of dirt?!"

"At least it won't annoy me or the other departments any more."

She stepped closer to him, "That doesn't matter, it was a _gift!_ My gift!" Dennis made to reply, but Fuller cut him off.

Adam slammed the door open, "Booker! Get in here, now." Then let it slam shut on its own.

"Sorry babe, justice calls. I'll make it up to you."

"I hate you!" she called with little meaning in her words.

Booker shrugged his back at her and strolled into Fuller's office. He took a seat before he was requested to, knowing what tone meant what. Fuller's tone before had meant business, held a lot of seriousness in it, so Booker knew to shut up and lay off the wise guy act for a while.

"There's new evidence on the Caitlyn case."

Booker looked his Captain over, watching his body language, his expression and listening to his masked tone of indifference. He came to a conclusion, "But I'm guessing that's not all you brought me in here for."

Fuller stopped and looked at Dennis, then slowly moved from his position at the window to sit as his desk, "No." he calmly dragged a few papers from his desk drawer, "It's about Hanson."

Bookers eyes widened and his heart flittered. He shifted a little before regaining composure, "Yea? Tommy-boy? What about the beau?" He hated the indifference he had to act about a man he had feelings for. Hated the spite and disgust he forced into his voice though he didn't half mind the guy, and definitely liked him in another way. He hated the whole, 'Tom-and-Dennis-hate-each other' relationship facade.

Adam ignored the jab and continued on, "Has he seemed any different on the case, a little…ill of sorts perhaps?"

Dennis thought it over, really thought it over. He knew what he should say; how Tom had come almost in tears to his apartment and for a reason Booker only assumed, but he couldn't. He wasn't positive, it could jeopardize his professional position and he couldn't do that to Tom. Couldn't embarrass him like that. Could he?

"I-no, I mean, he was sniffling a little in the rain the other day…but otherwise…" he paused, curious, "Why?"

"He called in sick today, but I'm not buying it."

Booker rose his eyes knowingly, "Yea, me neither." He mumbled.

Fuller slid the files to the centre of the desk, Dennis catching the top words. He balked a little. "Penhall's back on this case? Penhall!?"

"Yes, Officer Penhall is back on the case. Evidence about assumed Domestic abuse was brought to my attention by him. It could help."

"This is shit, Captain. You know it, this is total bull shit."

"Dennis," he warned.

"Abuse?" he laughed bitterly, "C'mon! I'm working on this case, we've been working on it, me and Tom, and I don't believe it for one minute. I mean everything-"

"Dennis," he cut in harshly, urgency evident in his voice.

"_Everything_," he continued ignoring his Captain, "Points to suicide. The note we found, the shopping list, the disposal of anything worth disposing, the somehow very convenient tying up of major lose ends. Captain we-"

"_Dennis!_" He snarled, breathing heavily through his nose, "Will you be quiet for a moment and listen!"

"I'm not working with-"

Adam glared, "Shut up, Booker." His words crisp and sharp, pronounced. "Now, I'm very aware that Domestic abuse is a very unlikely, implausible accusation because Caitlyn was missing the major element."

"A boyfriend," Booker stated arrogantly.

"Contrary to what Doug said, so," he slipped the files further over to Bookers hands, "I'd like you to go over to Tom's place and ask him of his opinion on the case-"

"But Coach! We already know, it'd be pointless and stupid and-"

"-Because maybe Tom has a different view on why Doug suddenly, abruptly, out of nowhere thinks Domestic abuse is why Caitlyn's done a runner. Especially after everything Tom's been through."

Gears slowly clicked in his head, and a wheel churned sounding a bell, igniting the light bulb, "Oh."

Fuller nodded knowingly with a side smile, "And you'll be able to see exactly how sick Tom is because I doubt he's as sick as he's making it out to be." He watched the file slip from his hand, "I think Penhall may have something to do with Tom's absence."

Booker nodded, "Yea," he fingered the paper, giving the duplicate copy back to his superior, "Look, Captain, I…there's something else." Fuller's brows rose intriguingly and he prompted for Dennis' continuance.

"Yea, but it's off the record okay?"

"Alright, so speaking off the record, Dennis…"

He shifted a little, rolling the gum hesitantly in his mouth, "Look, Hanson came to my apartment late afternoon yesterday, seemed real distressed, y'know? Very…anxious and nervous about something. I asked him what Penhall had done and he said nothing, said he hadn't meant it…."

"What do you think?"

"That it's bull. Penhall's done something to Hanson, I mean, Jesus, you don't know how distressed he was. He came over to my place for a start," he laughed a little in disbelief, "And he's drenched, soaked right through and refuses a jacket, a blanket and denies he's cold and it was freezing yesterday. There's…..I don't know."

Adam leaned into his padded chair, angled to the left, hands crossed together on his chest, "What do you think Penhall's done to Tom?"

"The bruise," he stated simply, "its Penhall's doing, I know it."

He narrowed his eyes, "Did Tom say that?"

"No, but…"

"Then we can only assume, and hopefully, it'll stay as an assumption."

"Adam," Booker never dared say Adams first name, but he was desperate, he needed to let him know that he was serious, "Something's not right between the two, and I think Tom's suffering from it."

He stood gingerly, "Look Dennis, just go over and sort out some things find out for yourself, and if it is true…then, well, we'll deal with it when it comes to that." He gestured to the door, "Right now, you've got something to do and I would appreciate it if you could get it done now. This is important," he crossed his hands behind his back, staring hard into Dennis's eyes, "It's nearly three thirty now Dennis and if what you think is right, then we really can't afford to waist any time."

Dennis nodded, "I really hope I ain't." - - -

Harry and Judy watched a distressed Booker hurriedly grab his possessions, stuff some papers into a bag and almost sprint out of the Chapel without a single goodbye. The door banging several times on his departure; Dennis having let his emotions force the door open, all sorts of conclusions and outcomes dancing in his mind. Adam Fuller followed from his office shortly, staring at the slowly swinging door.

"That Booker?" he asked needlessly. He watched the two receiving nods and sighed, "I shouldn't have asked him." He muttered.

Judy caught the muttered words and queried, "What? What's he done Captain?"

"Something very futile. I just asked him to get some paper work to Hanson, and now he's taking some ambiguous words and statements the wrong way concerning Tom." Though he knew heh ad prompted it.

"Why? What's up with Hanson?" Harry scoffed jokingly, "Don't tell me he got in a brawl again!"

Fuller side eyed Ioki, "A brawl?"

He nodded, "Yea, that's how he got that bruise."

"He told me he got it when he walked into a door." His fingers felt the rough texture of the paper uneasily.

Judy leaned against her desk with arms crossed, "Yea, well Penhall told me the he fell down some stairs."

Fuller glanced over back and forth at the two sceptically, "Some ones lying here."

"Yea, but who?"

Harry slung an arm around the back of his chair, "Why, is more to the point" "Look, I don't know what's happened with our wiring here, but I'm sure we've come to a wrong assumption." He moved the paper as he hands gestured nonsensically, "So keep it clear and keep it positive. Tom's just sick, that's all."

Judy scoffed cynically, "Yea, sure. Then why isn't Doug here?"

"Yea, where is Penhall?" Harry questioned curiously.

"Said he couldn't be bothered working the rest of today." She spoke almost as if she resented Doug for leaving her, for leaving work early and unnecessarily. She spoke as if she knew something bad was going down, but there was no evidence to make any accusations. At least no more than what she already had.

"That's alright Hoff's," he couldn't really blame Doug after this morning's discussion they had shared. He knew something was bothering the Officer, and didn't dare push or prive into it. Doug would confide in him later, when whatever trauma Doug had obviously gone through surfaced and he needed some advice. "He's had a rough morning."

"But Captain-" "Leave it Hoff's. Now have either of you got anything else to add or ask?" he watched the two look at another, then shake their heads, "Good. Let's get some work done around here, you've got no distractions." With that, he turned on his heel and closed his office door behind him, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Judy waited for the door to click and the sound of a scarping chair before she approached Harry's desk, "Something's going on around here."

He nodded, already back into paper work.

"We should do something about it."

He looked up at her, "Like what?"

"I don't know…maybe we could sneak over and-"

"C'mon Judy, this is Tom and Doug we're talking about. Nothing's going on between them, stop watching those soapies, they're doing you damage."

"But Harry!-"

He moved agitatedly, "Listen Jude's, Tom and Doug are madly in love with each other, they'd do anything for another and we both know that. Doug loves Tom, he looks up to him, and he's so damn protective of him, so he's not likely to do anything to Tom. And Tom, well God," he smiled in amusement, "That kid clings to Doug, it's like he's lost without him, so I doubt if anything bad is going on between them."

Judy sighed, defeated, "I know, it's just….something seems wrong."

"Yea, it's about us doing paperwork while all three of them are out."

Judy smiled thankfully, "Thanks Ioki, always no how to make a gal feel special."

"Yea, yea" he brushed her off, blushing shyly.

"No thanks, I just-I just worry about Tom, he seems so young….And so small next to Doug."

Harry looked into her eyes, making sure his own certainty reflected into hers, "Judy, they love each other, everything's fine. They're probably just going through some troubles. Not everyone's accepting of the gay community, you remember that case…"

Judy nodded, "Yea," she shifted a little before placing a friendly kiss on Harry's cheek, "Thanks Iokage"

- - -

Doug panted hard against the inside of his door, letting familiar surroundings embrace him. He had run several read lights, ignored stop and give ways signs and had accidentally ridden on the wrong side of the road for a brief moment. He was in no way in a clear and collective mind.

Letting his hardly used helmet fall to the floor with a jolting thud, he slugged his way to the kitchen, in desperate need of a drink. He glimpsed at the clock and saw it was nearing three thirty and an astounded laugh emitted from him; usually he was home after four if he left at this hour.

He ignored the fridge and tap and rummaged through a few rarely used cupboards, searching through bottles. Finally, his fingers clasped around a long, cylinder smooth neck ad he pulled out the square base drink with flat sides. He gazed whimsically at the drink's label, '_Jim Bean, pure Bourbon'_ and unscrewed the top.

"Drink up," he mumbled before titling his head back as he brought the smooth rounded lip of the bottle to his own, letting the gushing cool liquid burn down his throat, dribble from the corner of his mouth. With a pant of breath and a satisfied noise he swung the bottle down to his side and strode over to his couch, flopping 'Penhall manner' onto it.

The flickering television did nothing to sustain his mind, his thoughts running to those of Tom Hanson. Thomas Hanson. The most beautiful boy he had ever met; most intriguing, inquisitive, eloquent, rough, wild, timid boy he had met. Boy….not man, _boy_….he was so young… Granted, a year younger than Doug was, but he had that child like essence; the fear and vulnerability that made his age seem laughable. The guy was picking up sixteen year old girls for Christ's sake.

He sucked greedily at the bottle.

And he, Doug Penhall, had screwed the only possession he truly had ownership of, the only toy he had cherished, the only person he had loved this much. He had royally fucked it, in every way possible. Yet, he felt no real remorse for his actions, no true regret. This was Tom's fault after all, how dare he put Doug in such a position. How dare he move himself with such a flawless grace. How dare he make stupid, confronting gestures of love to him, seducing him. How dare Tom Hanson make his life so god damn hard and miserable by one simple word, one simple touch, one simple kiss.

He snarled as he took a lengthy drink, laughing nonsensically at nothing. Why did he hate Tom so much, but still love him? It made no sense to him and he felt complete guilt and ridiculously stupid for being in the position he was in. What kind of guy was he anyway? A big, lovable, teddy bear or a big, mean thug?

He again sucked at the bottle, refusing to accept what he knew he was.

Standing, with bottle only a few gulps worth left, he swayed uneasily before wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. He walked sullied around his rooms, yelling out incoherent words and shouts of Tom and love and hate and anything else he could think that resemble their dying relationship.

Doug shook the bottle, watching the last mills swirl methodically. He smiled stupidly, "Round and r-round you gooooo" he tilted the bottle up to his mouth, "Up and u-up a-and up…" he clamped his mouth round the mouth "One g-gulp, twoooo gulp…" his voice echoed within the bottle, "Into Douggie's ," the flammable liquid reach his mouth, moistening his lips, "gut."

He breathed drunkenly as he swallowed the remnants of the liquor, letting the bottle crash to the floor, breaking in two large pieces with shards of smaller glass circling around it. "Opps," he laughed giddily, "Okey dokey," he laughed at his mimic of Tom's favoured words. He walked with arms swaying unevenly at his side, a slight tilt to his walk as he moved sluggishly around his apartment.

"Tom-my!" he bellowed, needing the response. "_Tom-MEEE_" He stopped, listening intently for a reply. He sighed distressingly on not hearing one. "Where art my Tommy?" he cried pitifully. He staggered to where he kept his phone, planning in his intoxication to call upon the one who angered and confused him so much. The one who he was so sure he loved, and yet so sure he hated.

He ran a hand over the scattered numbers stuck on his wall, blurrily seeing Tom's number. The numbers danced, but it didn't matter; he knew that number off by heart. With phone still in hand, and cord wrapped across his chest, he turned to face the opposite direction, reaching for the glass of water he always kept there. His hands moved blindly across the table, searching desperately for the glass. Without success, he turned around for it. He looked a moment, blinked, regained some vision and slowly untangled himself from the cord.

Where the hell was his glass?

He searched the table futilely again, then pushed himself of the edge, staggering forwards fast into the couch. He had a glass there somewhere, somewhere….

He ran to his front door, thinking that perhaps he had placed it instead on the table there without realising. He wasn't exactly the soberest of minds. He placed two hands on the table by the door to steady himself, blinking furiously to keep his light headedness and dizziness at bay. "Oh God" he moaned…. "Oh holy friggin God." He shook his head a little, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally did, he pulled himself up, searching for the glass.

A crunch sounded under his soled foot and he looked down at the litter of glass and water spills. "There you- you are!" he cried almost happily. He steadied himself again, aware now that the glass was not in tact but shattered. He bolted up, looking around. Someone had been in here.

He hadn't been robbed, he knew that, nothing of importance had been taken and what theft would come to claim and ruin a cheap glass? No, some one had been in here, some one he knew, someone…

"Like Tommy," he voiced aggressively.

Snarling, he grabbed his helmet and headed out of his front door, sprinting awkwardly to his bike, his inebriation still lingering but clearing up in his rage of fury. He wasn't positive it had been Tom, he could be wrong for all he knew, but he doubted it. Something in him told him that it had been Tom. that Tom had snuck into his apartment. It angered Doug and he sent his bike revving loudly.

Tom has some explaining to do.

- - -

A crash from outside jolted Tom on the couch where he had been gently dozing. Groggy, he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, immediately pulling back as the rough contact sent searing jabs of pain through his face. Swearing, he stood gingerly from the couch, bent over a little, arm cradling his sore ribs.

He peeked out the curtain window, trying to see what had caused the noise outside. Another crash and a familiar cave like shout averted his eyes over to the left of the window where he saw a motorbike and cyclist he had very much been in love with. And still was with the bike. That was one hell of a bike after all.

Tom winced in time with the third crash, and scrunched his face up in an emotion of pain as he watched the heavier man become trapped under the heavier bike. Sighing, he made his way to the front door, still unsure as to why he was about to help the man who did nothing to help him.

He fiddled with the locks; usually, he had only ever had the one drawn/chain lock, but as soon as Doug had moved in it had been a key and deadbolt lock that took three times as long to work. By the time he had slipped the last lock away from his captive, Doug had managed to free himself from the bike and make his way towards Tom's apartment. A course of fear ran through Tom and he immediately began locking the door again, refusing to let Doug in without good reason.

Only just finishing the drawn and chain lock, Tom heard his name called sickeningly. Furiously, he fumbled to get the key lock to lock, but his shaking hands and misses slowed him until a large hand forced its way between the small gap and wall.

"Aren't you gonna let me in Tommy?"

Tom shook his head, lost for words, wanting nothing more to believe that the chain would secure him from the outside.

"No? That's not very nice is it?" he manoeuvred his hand so the palm faced up, fingers near the chain, "Guess I'll just have to break into here like a certain someone did to mine."

Tom froze, eyes petrified wide, mouth dry, "D-Doug…I…"

Doug's fingers clasped on to the chain and he pulled it to the right, letting it unclip itself. "See, this-this is why I made you put the other locks," he hiccupped a little, "locks on."

Tom mentally hit himself, cursing his natural instinct to help those, even when he knew they didn't deserve it. If he had just watched from the window, instead of going to help, he'd be in his room, hiding under his covers.

The door smacked open, Tom having just jumped out of the way, and Doug entered. "Hellooo," Doug called in McQuaid fashion.

On instinct, Tom took a step back. "Doug," he pleaded, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry this time, I really am I didn't…for whatever I've done…I'm really sorry."

Doug let the door close behind him, taking a step to match Tom's step back, "Oh I think you know perfectly well what you've done."

Tom nodded, blurting, "I didn't mean to go there, I…I was…I thought maybe you'd be there…and I…so I…"

"You broke into my house-"

"I had the key!" he pointlessly interrupted.

"-and broke a possession of mine…God Knows what else you've done."

"Nothing!" he floundered, "Honest."

Doug shook his head patronizingly, "Honest? How can I trust you Tom, when you've been nothing but honest, when all you've done is lie to me? How honest are you really?" he took a lunge forward.

Tom jumped back, taking another two steps further again, "Doug…"

Despite how much Doug had drunk of pure Bourbon, he was reasonably stable and his balance-though a little wobbly- was just as good as his reflexes and aim. Due to his size and build- and many years of excessive drinking-, Doug could hold his drink well. He made another lunge for Tom, pinning him in a grip.

"You're such a cock tease Tom."

Tom's nose scrunched from the fumes of the liquor, "You're drunk, Doug."

"Yea," he smiled maliciously, "Which means I'm twice as dangerous, eh?"

Tom's heart beat furiously against his chest and he struggled against Doug's grip, thanking whatever God was on his side that Doug was drunk enough so that his hold was weaker and Tom was able to escape the usual gorilla grip. "Please Doug, go. Go a-away…please. I'm sorry; can't we talk about this, tomorrow perhaps?"

"I'm not going anywhere Tommy, the way I figure it, you owe me something." He ran a finger tenderly down the side of Tom's swollen and bruised face, "So why don't you pay up, and then I'll go," he drew his face closer to Tom's, sucking his jugular seductively.

Tom pulled away, "Doug…" Though his touch was sensual and arousing, Tom refused to let himself be seduced. He couldn't afford it, not in the state Doug had recently been in. Was in. "No?" he laughed, "We'll do it my way." More intimidating steps forward as Tom stepped back in fear.

"Doug," he whined lamentably, pitifully. His back collided with a wall and he looked at the doorframe next to him. His bedroom hung wide open, dark and intriguing. Tom followed Doug's eyes, watching the hungry desire grow in them as they lingered over Tom and then his room.

Tom put two and two together.

"No, Doug!" he started to tremble, his voice weak and hollow, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Yes."

Doug made the last grab, dragging the flailing, weakly lashing Tom inside the room, pushing the door closed behind him. He slammed Tom forwards, letting him escape, watching as he straightened himself up and stood shivering in the centre of his room.

He smiled cruelly, "Time to pay up, Tom."

**So I guess it's kind of clear as to what's going to happen next chapter. Please though, don't think I'm about to go into full in-depth detail, I won't. It may not even get that far…  
Please review, they're very appreciated and loved XD**

- - -

**If this shows, ignore it, I'm trying to beat ffnet's stupid editing system…**


	9. Broken hearted Victim

**If this shows, ignore it, I'm still trying to beat ffnet's stupid editing system…**

- - -

**Disclaimer: **I own squat.

**A/N:** The end is coming! XD Ah, right, this is a nasty little chapter. Mentions and some details of rape. Nothing to heavy, or in detail but, well… I'm not actually particularly happy with this chapter, there's something a little off about it but I hope you enjoy.

**Thanks: **The response was so quick and welcoming, so really, just a massive thanks to everyone! As always, _lynny, rubydoo_ and _Mags_.

Many, many thanks to '_nay' _really, thank you so very much. Your review meant a lot and I hope you enjoy this. And to _NikkiCee; _thank you so much love, you don't know how much the songs helped, lol, maybe you do as the title indicates them ;)

**To Be Used  
Chapter Nine  
Broken hearted Victim**  
- - -

Tom was reminded of a memory of him as a child, standing crying in the middle of his room. Watching his angry father stand at the door way, trying to talk to him over his sons childish wails and sobs. As he father had lurched slowly forward, child Tommy had cried harder; fear growing, pounding at him, gnawing at him, devouring him. He had known he had done wrong, known he was in trouble, and no matter how sorry he claimed to be, he knew he was still going to be in trouble.

All that fear, that child like vulnerability, the sorrow and pain and insistent, non-stop wails, came back to Tom. He stood shaking, trembling, knees pressed together as Doug crept lustfully forward for him. His eyes were unfocused, tears brimming and falling from them; the orbs two dark pebbles submerged in a lake. "D-Doug," he chocked, his voice restricted from the fear.

"Tom," the larger man had no trouble speaking, had no problem with the sin he knew he was about to commit.

"Please," he tears grew into voiced sobs, unable to suppress them. Knowing what was about to happen made the situation worst, made the fear unavoidable.

Doug caught Tom as he fell, dragging the lighter body to the bed edge, pushing him down onto it. He stood above, watching Tom breath erotically on his back, "Stop crying Tom, it's pathetic."

Tom fought to stop the tears, to quieten the sobs and whimpers, but he didn't succeed. "Don't, don't" he hiccupped, "Don't do this Doug, please, I-I love you." The words sounded false and tasteless on his tongue, and he knew now that all the love for Doug he had ever felt was gone.

"And I love you-"

Tom nodded. Maybe not all the love he felt for Doug was gone, it couldn't be. Not when the man who was about to harm him, the man who was cowering over him like a predatory bear, was still comforting him with those simple words. Still arousing him.

"-But sometimes, sometimes…" he shook his head, clearly confused by himself, "You just make me do this Tommy."

Tom swallowed, "Can't-Can't we talk about this Doug?"

Doug shook his head, "I'm sorry." He pulled his jacket off, now in jeans and a t-shirt. "I'm sorry." He made the lunge; falling on the bed, arms on either side of Tom, legs pinned between Toms'.

"Doug!" he cried, "No! Don't!" he weakly tried to push the larger body of him, incapacitated by his sore bones and bruised body. "Stop!"

"Shut up, Tommy" With fumbling fingers he peeled off the jumper Tom wore, tugging it as it caught around his neck, tearing at the sleeves. "Just-Just shut up okay, it won't hurt…so bad then."

Tom's chest heaved, skin sinking around the bones as he breathed in. Realization dawned on him; that Doug didn't want to do this, that for reasons unbeknownst to Tom, Doug felt compelled. Tom had to get through to the rational side of Doug that had to still be there, "Doug, you" he chocked, "you don't wanna be doing this. I know you don't. You can stop."

"I know." He paused, hands lingering over the tender cheekbones of Tom, running over the delicate and fine sculptures of his face, "And I wouldn't" his finger parted the two petal lips, "but you deserve this Tom. It's the only way you'll learn."

Tom's eyes widened, confused. How was this, his fault?

Doug noticed the confusion and gently moved his hands down the marked neck to run freely over Tom's chest, touch the hardened nipples. He looked hypnotically at the dark bruise that accentuated each rib, the horrid patch of blood and torn skin. "I'll tell you," he pressed purposely hard on the bruise, bathing in the sound of Tom's harsh whimpers, "If you hadn't been so nosy, hadn't been so self absorbed, hadn't been such a pathetic excuse of a boyfriend, I wouldn't have to be like this."

Tom nodded, cold tears tracing the bones on his face; Doug was right.

"But, what really triggered this, what's really caused all of this, is that night….with _Booker_ and how _disgusting_ it made you."

"Oh God, Doug." His face scrunched as he bit back a wail that he knew would never stop if he let it escape. Doug was only confirming his doubts, only enforcing them hard in cement, and Tom knew they had to be right. Of course they did. He had caused all of this, had made life hard for Doug. He deserved this.

He would never know to correct himself.

Doug ran fingers through Tom's hazelnut hair, breathed in his scent, lingered as their eyes locked. He breathed huskily, changing positions a little. "Turn over."

"No"

An eyebrow arched gracefully, "No?" he smiled bitterly, slapping Tom's delicate face sharply, "I said turn over, Tom!"

Tom sniffed, "N-No Doug, I..."

Doug moved his knees below Tom's genitals, knowing any higher would incapacitate the use, "I said, fucking turn over."

Tom was physically frozen, traumatized by terror. He knew to move, he could feel his mind screaming at his nerve centre to do so, yet he couldn't physically move. He felt sick.

Doug growled, gripping at Tom's lean forearms with a force that would be sure to leave deep bruises and tiny nail cuts the next day. He made no noise as he easily flipped Tom's body over. He laughed a little, maliciously, grabbing at his belt and pulling it through the buckles without any regret of what he was about to do. He let the belt and jeans slide from off of his hips, the belt slipping through the holders and clunking to the ground.

The noise of a zip being pulled down alerted Tom and screamed at his mind. Suddenly he was awoken from the frozen trance he had been in. He turned a little, struggling against Doug's larger hands, heavier hands, abusing hands. "Get-" he grunted, "Get off of me Douglas"

Doug was shocked that the placid, almost willing Tom had suddenly upreared; using the small amount of strength he had to throw Doug off. Tom had always been weaker than Doug, exceptionally stronger than what he appeared, but weaker than Doug. It didn't help now that Tom was physically exhausted and injured and that Doug's drunken limbs were heavier.

"Turn over, slut, and stay there." He pushed Tom back onto his stomach. "And don't you dare talk to me," he slapped the side of Tom's head, "like that."

Tom's eyes stung from the force of the slap, but more so from his breaking heart. _Slut_. Doug had never called him a slut, even when drunk, and it hurt. It fucking hurt more than a bullet wound ever could. It tore at him, it killed him, it ruined him.

"Remember your God damn place Tom, on bottom, as always."

Tom felt a twinge of nauseas hit him, rise in his throat. He had always been on bottom because Doug had loved being on top, because Tom had loved Doug being on top. Now, he was using it against Tom and Tom wasn't sure if anything could hurt as much as what Doug had just said to him. _Slut._

Doug used a knee to pin Tom to the bed as he shrugged his jeans to his thighs, stroking his member even though it was already hard. "You ready?"

Tom whimpered into the ironic soft sheets, "Please Doug, don't do this."

Doug laughed, "Fuck you." He reached under Tom's waist and felt down for the zip, tugging at it and unbuttoning the silver metal circle. Tom tired to escape, weakly struggled against his captor but found the knee in his back painful and that with his body in this state, with his mind the way it was, he couldn't. As he pants were tugged over his hips and down his things to his knees, his erection intensified from the warming hands and he blushed furiously, wishing his body wouldn't react, praying for it to stop, trying to deny the pleasure and arousal he felt.

Doug lingered over, touching in a way that made Tom want to scream, tears forgotten. "Don't pretend you don't like it Tommy." Doug grabbed at Tom's face, meeting with the flushed cheeks, "I was right, you are a little slut." He forced his lips to Tom's unresponsive ones and growled into them to force them open where he fiercely tamed and captured Tom's mouth, possessing it.

Tom pulled away, a new wave of tears brimming at his eyes. How pathetic he was, how…useless he was. Captured by his once lover, forced into a degrading position because he was too weak, too useless, too pathetic to aspire to anything or anyone else. He laughed into the covers in pained disbelief; he was just here to be used, just here for Doug's enjoyment. He was used in every aspect. It was all his life amounted to now. Tom jolted as the hard member of Doug's came to brush against his opening.

It didn't mean that he _wanted_ his life to amount to this, that he wanted what was happening to him. That he wouldn't stop it.

"Doug!" he screamed, voice tearing, "Please, Doug, don't fucking do this!" he struggled to get up as Doug position himself on top, straddling Tom in one of the most degrading positions they had ever been in. "Doug!" his voice softened, all anger and fear drowned by acceptance, "I'm begging you Doug, please, _please_, don't do this…"

- - -

Booker's motorcycle had never seemed so slow in his life. It didn't matter that he was killing the speed limit by a good ten miles, and sometimes nearly twenty. It didn't matter that he had illegally put his siren on to skip red lights and force all traffic to a side for a matter he may only be prying to deep into. It didn't matter that he was physically, realistically going as fast as he could; because his fastest wasn't fast enough to get him to Tom.

What if he didn't make it in time to stop something horrible?

He floored the gas again. He wouldn't allow that to happen. He turned the street left, ignoring the images that had been plaguing him, ignoring the scenarios that tauntingly played in his mind; he had already envisioned everything possible, he knew the endings off by heart, he just hoped he didn't find Tom dead on the floor, covered in his own blood.

The siren blasted annoyingly in his ear and he wished he could scream at it, throw it off and be done with it, but without it, he would be five miles further away and the usually comforting blearing noise would be accepted for this one chance to save Tom.

Dennis smiled beneath the helmet, to save Tom. The thought sounded ridiculous. Three months ago they were at each others throats; even three days ago they had been bickering. Months ago Tom had accused him of rape and now he was flying down roads and street paths to get to a man he had only just been compassionate to, only just started acting friendly towards. To get to a man Dennis was starting to fall for and that simple, mere thought excited and scared him.

A fine spray of rain started and Dennis suddenly felt himself caught in a surreal environment, like none of what was happening, what had happened and what was about to, existed. That this was some far fetched dream he hadn't yet awoken from where desires and nightmares had been fulfilled; yet the passionate kiss and warm embrace he had been entangled in with Tom proved all of that different.

A flutter ran through his heart and Dennis leaned further over his motorbike. There was no use in trying to deny it or find reason for it; Dennis Booker loved Tom Hanson.

He sharply turned a corner and flew down a straight road, bike coming to a skidding halt as he slammed the brakes, smoke burning underneath the tearing rubber of the tyre. The folder was forgotten as he leapt from the bike, ignoring its clatter as the kickstand failed and the bike tumbled to the ground. Scratches were easy to fix, dead bodies were not.

It was then that Dennis had to stop his train of thoughts; he was taking this too far. Tom was not dead, Doug had not killed him, there was nothing going on between the two more than a verbal fight and Tommy being the whiny, scrawny runt he was, had freaked out more than what was necessary. Still, Dennis took steps two at a time, he still had that uneasy feeling swimming inside of him and he was not willing to risk the chance.

He panted at the door of Tom's apartment, pausing to regain breath as hands fell to knees, body hunched over. He was a trained cop, even used to have a quite a position on his school's track team, and yet the short run up the stairs, the fast paced, yet lazy ride over had exhausted him.

"_Doug! Doug! Stop!! Please! Stop, Stop!"_

Dennis shot up, heart beat pounding heavily against his chest cage. Even through the wooden door Tom's yells were clear and audible and Dennis shuddered against the thought of how they would sound in the same room as Tom.

_'Stop! Please, please, please Doug, stop…" _

Dennis hated how broken and weak the cries sounded, how piercing and anguished they were that the undertone in Tom's voice spoke of nothing more but utter fear and humiliation and Dennis was sure guilt too. He twisted the door knob, swearing heatedly as he found it locked. Dennis rammed his shoulder against the door, waiting for the wood to splinter and crack.

"_Stay the fuck down Tom," a muffled smack, "This is your own fault." A soft cry, a fragile whimper._

Dennis froze, still pressed against the door. Penhall's' voice sounded so different, so unlike him that it freaked the usually collective Dennis out and he could only imagine how Tom felt. How the easily frightened Tom would feel at the hands of his abusive lover, listening up close to the demonic voice that possessed Doug Penhall. His mind geared and he threw his full body weight into the door, each continuous ram afterwards accompanied by a swear word, a mutter of hope, a begging of making it in time.

The door creaked, and a snap on the other side vibrated threw the door and Dennis smiled in relieved hope. He breathed in deeply, mentally preparing himself before he gave the last and final ram, the splintering of the door drowned by Tom's cry.

"_Why do you hate me, Doug?!" a soft cry, soundings of a struggle, "What the fuck did I ever do to you?" a yelp of pain, "I'm sorry Doug, I'm sorry for Christ's sake!" a sickening scream entwined with a satisfied grunt, "I'm fucking sorry Doug. I'm sorry I'm a fuck up, I'm sorry I fucked up your life, I'm sorry I'm so fucking disgusting that you find you-" a stifled muffle as a noise emitted from Tom, "-can't love me anymore." A dejected tone, "I'm sorry Doug." _

It took a moment for words to make a path in Dennis' mind, took a moment longer for the sounds Dennis had been hearing to process, and it took a moment longer still for Dennis to double over, the overwhelming urge to vomit rising in his stomach, up his throat into his mouth. He coughed a little, the acidic burn leaving his mouth. He didn't think Penhall would sink as low, become so degrading as to do this.

"Hanson!" he all but screamed.

There was a change in movement, a quieter environment and muffled words. He called again, louder and more determined, searching round the house. "Hanson! Tom Hanson!" He passed the kitchen, stepping carefully around furniture and overturned belongings; signs of a struggle.

His heart beat grew, climaxing to a point that he felt it rise in his throat. His footsteps became wider as he moved from walking to pacing, pacing to jogging. "Tom! Answer me god damn it!" He strained his ears for a retort and heard instead a muffled cry, a strangled sob, a heavy blow. "Tom!" his voice panicked.

There were inaudible words, hushed secrets from Dennis' ears and furniture moved. "Jesus," Dennis muttered frustratingly. He bolted fast, turning the sharp corner and coming face to a closed door. He could barely remember Tom's apartment, but he was positive this had to be Tom's room, positive in his minds frame that it was.

He yelled from the outside, "You in here?" he knew he wouldn't get a reply, but something in him had hoped so, "Tom…please," he didn't want what he thought, what he knew, to be right.

A reluctant sigh escaped him and he ran a shaking hand through his sweat saturated hair. "What am I doing…" he trailed off hopelessly, wishing it was someone else, any one else, just not him.

_'Doooouuuug! DOUG!'  
_  
Tom's scream shook him, and he barred his teeth, suddenly feeling abusive towards Doug Penhall. He twisted the unlocked door knob and closed his eyes briefly, trying to catch his breath and ease his thumping heart. He slowly opened his eyes and let the scene before him unfold.

What he saw would never be forgotten.

**Maybe it was a little abrupt, and a nasty place to leave but I need that break there otherwise it'll be wtf? And no one wants a wtf. Thank you all again for your reviews!**


	10. Porcelain Doll

**  
-Yea, ignore this, still trying to beat ffnet. I should just give up really, is any one else having troubles when they enter the editing system?**

**Disclaimer**: I own these boys in my dreams.

**A/n**: I'm really not happy with this chapter either- gee, I'm not happy with them lately- But it's only because I think I really stuffed Booker around, so criticism on his character is really much appreciated.

Thank you again to everyone, I really can't thank you enough you guys are great. I luv you Tilly and Leanne XD.

**Chapter Ten  
Porcelain Doll.**

Booker floundered for a moment before he was able to gain a sense of bearing and order. Mouth still open from the startle and shock before him, his hand fell lifelessly from the doorknob, incoherent words tangling on his tongue. The occupants in the room seemed not to have noticed his presence, and Dennis doubted they ever would over their insistent groans and pleading yells.

His body, though, seemed to be able to work before his mind and in four large strides he was behind the two; watching a young mans fragile body be ridden cruelly, mercilessly and recklessly by his larger, once caring and trusting partner. It was this thought; of Tommy being broken so horribly, so slowly, with such a dreaded build up over weeks and with such an unwarranted reason, of Tom having to suffer for nothing, having to live with guilt and shame and everything else Dennis knew Tom would pin on himself, that triggered Dennis to move.

The fury that ignited in his voice, its essence dominating the whole room, was only a partial amount of the violence he felt. "_Penhall !!_ What the hell do you think you're doing!" his lean, gym toned arms circled Doug, pulling him off Tom.

Doug grunted as he was forced to pull viciously out of Tom- Tom's thin scream drowned out by Booker's fury- and turned to face Dennis with a look of simple shock and a tinge of loathing. "Get off me," he snarled, "This is none of your business."

Tom was forgotten on the bed, his whimpers and nonsense muffled by the covers in which he pitifully buried his face in like a wounded dog. Booker dragged the larger body of Doug up with him and away from Tom, the nakedness forgotten, "Get away from him, Penhall." His tone was soft and deadly.

Doug struggled free of Dennis, riving himself around to stand down Dennis, "Fuck you, this has nothing to do with you." His chest heaved and unblinkingly he rammed his fallen jeans and boxers from his thighs to his waist, "we have some things to sort out, that's all." He had already done his belt up before he had finished speaking.

Dennis panted, from rage and Doug's resistance, "Get out of here Doug," his tone indicated warning; Dennis didn't know how long he could withstand the urge to slam Doug.

Doug pushed Dennis forcibly in the chest, "Don't tell me what to fucking do, _Dennis_, this is my home as much as it is Tom's. And I don't want _you_ here," he pushed again for emphasis, "It's my business how I do things, and I'm teaching Tom a lesson; I'm allowed to do that."

Dennis face contorted in rage and he stared Doug down in aggravated disbelief, "You _know_ you can't do what you're doing, _Doug_. This is _rape_ for Christ's sake!"

He laughed in disbelieved mock, "Rape?" he repeated, "I'm teaching him a lesson, that's all there is to it. God, you're acting like the whiny brat, maybe that's where he gets it from."

The laughter that concluded Doug's sentence ignited Dennis' fury of wrath, and without a sound, a gesture or an expression change, Dennis had rocked back a little on his heel, swung his right arm back and, tension building, let it slam heartedly into Doug's face. He watched in satisfaction as the dumbbell before him blinked a little, vision unfocused, before falling like timber to the floor. A smirk graced its way upon his face as he shook his right hand from the tenderness; the hit alone was not enough to keep a man his build down for more than a few minutes, but with the help of the alcohol Dennis had smelt overpoweringly on Doug's breath, it would keep him down for a good hour.

A strangled, chocked sob brought Dennis back to the reason why he was here; almost forgetting the vulnerable, broken man on the bed over his pounding heart and ringing ears. He turned from Doug, checking the unmoving body, and faced the slight bulge on the bed, half hidden by a duvet.

"Tom," nothing in his voice, in the compassionate sympathy, would help Tom, and Dennis knew that.

He hesitantly dragged his feet along the carpet, movements slow and soft, dramatic and emphasised; he did not want to risk scaring the frightened animal that Tom had become. He gingerly sat on the corner of the bed, a small way from Tom and felt the nausea and pity twinge as Tom whimpered and mumbled, curling further into himself.

Dennis knew the damage would take a forever to be undone.

"Hey, Tom?" he hung the question in air, unsure of where to go. He had dealt with abuse cases before, domestic, physical, sexual, and emotional; but they had all been female. He had never dealt with a male as the victim, and he had never dealt with a friend being involved, two friends for that matter, and Dennis had definitely never had a man he loved subject to the cruelty. It was a completely knew situation for him, and an even newer one for Tom he imagined.

He slowly reached a hand forward, limb shaking from the stilled slowness, "T-Tom?" his arm fell feather light on Tom's shoulder. The gentle, caring touch jolted the hushed man and Dennis withdrew his hand fiercely as if he had been burnt as Tom smothered a cry in his throat and curled further away, back hunched and facing Dennis.

Dennis sighed, running a hand through his hair; another habit he guessed he had picked up from Tom, he really did watch that man too much. Dennis tapped lightly on his jeans, unsure of where to go, where he was at. He had been thrown into this whirlwind of drama and hate and he couldn't find an opening to escape, there was no Kansas to wish for, no dog Toto and somewhere along the line Dennis had dropped the manual on how to fix broken hearts and souls.

He stared at the back of Tom, transfixed by the rise and fall of his slender, fragile body and the struggle it had to breathe amongst the pain and silent sobs. His dark, chestnut hair, long and unruly, fell lightly around his features. His exposed skin was soft and smooth in the dim light, a pale complexion from lack of sun that emphasised the porcelain doll Booker had often seen Tom as. Dennis yearned to see his face; to see that tear streaks that shimmered his skin, to see the forever pouting rose lips, the arched, blushed cheekbones and thick Bambi lashes that cast a Sleeping Beauty grace on him. He again reached a hand to touch the shoulder, needing the touch to hush his yearns, to sooth the ache in his heart and refused to remove it as Tom flinched under the touch, chocked in the back of his throat, tensed into himself.

Dennis would have to start his own manual; he just wished he knew how to.

"Tom," he tired again in hushed soothing tones, a lullaby that was never sung, "Please, Tom…it's Booker." He paused, the words sounding wrong, "It's Dennis, Tom, I need you to talk to me…please."

The movement beneath his hand was small, but it was enough and Dennis continued, feeling his heart lift a little, "Won't you talk to Dennis, Tommy, please?" he hated the patronizing voice he had, but he knew normal tones wouldn't work for Tom; Tom Hanson didn't reside here anymore, only Tommy. "Please Tom, I'm here to help."

Tom could hear Dennis, but the logic in his mind refused him to turn around, to speak or move; he was stilled with fear, reminded painfully of disobedience and love and he feared what could happen if he allowed himself to turn around. He tried to shrug the hand away, tried to ignore the comforting, warm tones but found he couldn't. Right now, vulnerable in his nakedness, only slightly hidden by covers, he wanted nothing more to die, to fall in a dark hole, to sleep an endless sleep.

"Tommy," Dennis' voice broke, "Please…"

The only other thing Tom wanted more, was love.

He heaved his body in a sigh, letting tears roll down his face as he nodded in agreement to the voice in his head. His voice was cold and tired, lifeless from emotion, soft and raspy from his thin screams and begs, "Dennis," the word alone seemed to drain him of energy.

Dennis closed his eyes in blessed relief, and rubbed his stilled hand across Tom's shoulder in soothing comfort. "Tom…" he trailed, unsure of where to go. He took in Tom's naked back, the darkness surrounding them, engulfing them, taking away the extent of Tom's pain; looking around, Dennis knew that right now all Tom would want were clothes, a comfort in the warm material, a place to hide.

"Do you, ah, do you want some," he felt nervous saying a word that had caused him to lose so much security, so much comfort; lose so much dignity by failing to cover; "clothes?" He swallowed, "You know, just a jumper…or shirt, pants…"

Tom nodded, falling further into the beds embrace, "They're in the draws."

Dennis nodded and slowly stood, moving loud as to alert Tom of his surroundings and motives. A shiver coursed Dennis' body; Tom's voice was so lifeless, so dejected and disdainful, void of any emotion the usual passionate, excited, life-loving man possessed.

He stumbled through the dark- once tripping over the leg of unconscious Doug and snarling spitefully- and found his way to the door, hand running the wall for a light switch. The room ignited in a bright glow and Dennis winced from the colour change, feeling guilty at Tom's groan. He pulled draws open, grabbing briefs, jeans and a jumper. He glanced at the jeans, knowing how they accentuated Tom's arse and legs and dropped them to the floor, searching the draws again for track suit pants.

"Here," he spoke gently, still soft and in a parent's manner to a child. He sat on the bed, this time closer to Tom, and fiddled with the clothing; he was still yet to look at Tom. "Do you, do you want to get dressed?"

Tom nodded, slowly and gingerly picking his body up from the bed, the cool air biting him, covers slipping, exposing him in all his inflicted brutality.

Dennis gasped, staring hypnotized at the assortment of colours that covered Tom, the blood that ran down him, some still bleeding, and the movements of pain and hisses that Tom made. "_Jesus…"_

Tom snapped his head up in alarm at Dennis, then, realising he wasn't going to strike, followed the larger mans gaze. He blushed shamefully as he conjured what Dennis was looking, at what Dennis was thinking; how pathetic Tom was, how degrading and disgusting.

"Itwasanaccident"

Dennis blinked, straining to catch the muffled words of Tom, "What?" he was still very much in shook at Tom's bruised and battered body and he couldn't make himself move his transfixed eyes to Tom's face, petrified of what he would find.

"It-It was an accident." He folded his arms around himself, hugging his shaking limbs, "Just an accident…"

"Oh Jesus…" he trailed; Tom was blaming himself and Dennis felt physically sick at the horrible realization- it would take months to strip the damage that had been done.

"I'm sorry." It was weak and child like, Tom's gaze intrigued with the floor.

"Wha?-" he fumbled blindly for words, "No, Jesus, no… no Tom. It's not your fault, do you understand?" he finished with idle hopefully.

Tom didn't move, just fiddle with the lose ends of the sheet that covered from his pelvis and below.

"Tom," he pushed, "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't you who did this." It was eerie to see such a strong character reduced to nothing, and again Dennis found himself thinking of how he, and everyone else, would have to handle this new fragile Tom. Then he wondered how long Tom had really been fragile for, that maybe it wasn't such a new thing.

Tom wasn't persuaded and in a voice so unlike his own but a child version of himself, he stumbled, "But…But I lead him to this." It was obvious he couldn't find logic in his words, only a false fact that had been drilled into him.

"No, Tom, it wasn't," Dennis felt awkward in this situation, it was so far from the hatred he had once felt for him, "Tommy…" he needed confirmation of Tom's understanding, "_Tommy…"_ he sighed relentlessly, and made a slow, cautious movement for his slender jaw, turning his head to face his own, "Listen to me Tom, it wasn't your fault, okay? It wasn't your fault; you didn't do any of this at all. It was Doug, Tommy, not you. Okay?"

Tom nodded slowly, his eyes linked with Dennis as salty tears ran slowly down his face, "Okay…"

Dennis felt his own tears fall down his face and he ran his thumb over Tom's lips like he had only a few days ago; a lifetime ago now it seemed.

Tom shuddered from the touch and closed his eyes, "I'm sorry."

Dennis hushed him, "It wasn't your fault," he silenced Tom's protest by parting the two lips, "You're going to be okay Tom," he wasn't sure if it was more for reassurance of himself or Tom.

"Why does he hate me?"

Dennis shook his head, letting his tears flow down his dry face, "I don't know Tommy, I don't know."

Tom's voice caught, "I loved him so much…"

Dennis nodded and let his hand fall, pulling Tom into a fierce hug as Tom's voice reached hysteria.

"I loved him so fucking much…. I loved him…why did he hate me, why'd he have to be like this? I wanna-I wanna know what I did…I want him to love me…What did I do, Dennis, what the hell did I do wrong?" his salty tears mingled in Dennis' hair, his sobs muffled by the nape of his neck and Dennis clenched him fiercer, tighter, ignoring both their tears and sobs.

"You did nothing Tom," he breathed unsteadily out, "It wasn't because of Doug's hate…it was because he loved you too much. You did nothing Tom, nothing but love him."

"I love him, still."

Dennis nodded over Tom's confused voice, "I know and he…he doesn't understand okay? He's fucked up Tom, he's sick in the head, he doesn't understand what he's doing to you, how he's hurting you. Forget him Tom."

"I can't," he pulled from Dennis, suddenly uncomfortable at the proximity of their closeness. "I can't sop loving him."

Dennis nodded, looking away from Tom as he mutely handed him his clothes. There was so much fucked up with this situation, the entire thing was wrong; everything about it was wrong, what the hell was he doing here, what was he thinking, how the hell had this happened?

He felt Tom awkwardly move against him as he tried to get dressed and Dennis stood, "Do you want me to go?"

Tom didn't answer, slipping his head through the jumper.

"Tom?" He watched as Tom stilled, looking at the fabric of his track pants. "Tommy…"

"It hurts."

Those two single words revibrated around the room, echoed in the silence, imprinted themselves in Dennis' mind, _It hurts_… He again felt sick. "I know Tom, do…do you want…do you want me to help?"

Tom shook his head, standing hunched over and shaky, "I'm okay."

"Yea…"

Tom slowly pulled the fallen jeans off from his knees, ignoring the blood that had collected on them, the semen that was caught in fabric cracks. He seemed determined to ignore the blood between his legs; the semen mingled amongst it as he pulled briefs over, then pants over, purposely ignoring the mess he knew was there. He had no energy, felt too weak and the only thing he wanted to do was have a shower, wash away his disgust, his burns, his pain; yet he had no desire, no energy, he was too weak, too pathetic to drag his body around. Instead, he flopped on the bed, letting the mattress embrace his hurts. Unaware of Dennis watching his every moment, eyes widened at the horrid the rape had left.

"Where's your phone Tom?"

His eyelids were half closed, his voice almost inaudible. "I don't know…"

Booker nodded, tears staining his cheek. Tom was so different now to how he was a few moments ago when his voice had reached hysteria and tears had covered his face. It was, though, how things would be for a long time. Mood swings and seclusiveness.

"I'm gonna go find your phone, Tom, and call the Chapel, alright?" he received no answer from the form on the bed; now curled and hunched, body trembling the sheets. "Tommy?" there was a small whimper and Dennis accepted that, knowing much more was almost impossible. He glanced at the face, the bruised and bleeding face and wondered just how the porcelain doll would heal its scars and wounds.

Dennis felt guilty of leaving Tom in the room, and even nervous that the fallen Doug would wake unexpectedly and attack Tom, but he needed help down here, a lot of it, he couldn't do this by himself. He circled the rooms for a while, growing heated as each minute brought him still nothing. Coming to the lounge, he upturned tables and cushions, searching for the phone and in anger stood and cursed under his breath, fist slamming on the table behind the couch. An object rattled and fell and he flew around, fearful that he had broken something. He smiled as he saw the white phone screeching out a beeping noise and quickly picked it up, dialling the Chapel's number.

"Jump Street speaking"

He didn't waste a second, "Get me Captain Adam Fuller." He waited a moment, foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"Yes?"

"Captain, you need to get here now, there's no time to explain, just get here, bring someone, Judy maybe, Harry should know too, I think-"

"Dennis? Slow down, calm yourself for a minute. I can't understand you."

He breathed in shakily, his breath robotic on Fuller's end, "It's Tom, sir…"

Adam paused, letting the words flow around him, he struggled for words and looked at the door, watching through the window Judy and Harry, "What happened, Dennis?"

Dennis didn't know how to explain and instead turned to face the direction of Tom's room, listening intently for any noise, "Doug…" he didn't know what else to say, "You…You were right sir."

Adam's breath hitched and his grip loosened on the phone, he found the back of his chair and used it to stabilize himself, "Dennis….Dennis are you sure?"

Dennis' emotions had been played with ever since he had gotten off his motorbike. From fear and anger, pain and sympathy, anger again, confusion, love, hate, sorrow, helplessness and Fuller's words-though unmeant to harm- had enraged him and brought out his suppressed feelings, "Of course I'm fucking sure! You think I'm as dumb to call up and say you're right about domestic fucking abuse if there's no evidence. How fucking dumb do you think I am?" he breathed heavily, feeling deflated, "Just get down here okay?"

Adam closed his eyes, a sick twinge on his heart strings, "What happened Dennis?" a strong part of him didn't want to know.

Hesitant, Dennis struggled for an answer. It seemed wrong to scream out what Tom had been through, but they all eventually had to know… "He's real bad Captain." His voice shaky, "Just…he's a mess, blood, bruises… something's gotta be broken amongst all of this, physically and emotionally."

Adam nodded to himself, "He beat him."

Dennis licked his lips, closing his eyes as his straining ears picked up the soft cries of a fallen man, "and…raped." He wasn't surprised by the shocked gasped.

"No…"

"I…" he wanted to say sorry, but he didn't know what for, didn't find it right to say, "he was raped," he repeated.

Adam lent off the chair and paced a few steps, "I'll be there Dennis, and I'll bring Harry and Judy along."

"Thanks," Dennis didn't realise until now how much tears and endless sobs could slice your heart.

"Look after him Dennis, keep him awake, console him. He's going to need a lot of help from now on."

Dennis nodded, suddenly exhausted, "I know, and I will." He wanted to get off, he couldn't bear one more scream from the fallen porcelain doll, "I have to go, thanks sir."

Adam ran a hand through his head, heart pounding crazily. "I'll be there soon." He placed the receiver down and collapsed into his chair; he couldn't forgive himself for not paying more attention to Tom.

Dennis hung up after the screech of a dial tone had numbed him. He turned surreal back into Tom's room and watched quietly as the boy on the bed cried painfully, pawing at the bed sheets, smearing his wet face on the covers.

"I-I've called Fuller, Tom, he'll be here soon. And Harry and Judy."

Tom pulled his head up and looked at Dennis in stunned shock before letting his head fall harshly down again, "No…" he cried, "No, _No!_"

Dennis paled against the hysteria of his pleads, of the begs.

"No, no, _no!_"

"I'm-I'm sorry Tommy!" he was shocked and confused.

"_Nooo!"_

"Tom!" Dennis was close to hysteria himself. He couldn't stand Tom's consistent pleads of No's, continuous cries of humiliation, "They need to know."

"No-No," he sniffed loudly, "No one does…no one needs- needs to. Please, Dennis…"

Dennis was quick to the bed, quick to engulf Tom in a hug, pulling the resistant body closer to him until it became limp with defeat. "They have to know, Tommy. Doug needs to pay for what he's done."

Against the stronger chest, Tom mumbled, "It was an accident."

Dennis sighed, "No it wasn't Tom," subconsciously he began a slow rhythm of rocking.

"It was my fault…not his"

"No, it wasn't." Tom again pulled from Dennis, but was trapped in the stronger arms. "You didn't do anything Tommy; no matter what you think, or what Penhall's told you. All you did was love him."

Tom nodded against his words and finally relaxed into the soothing rock. He would never admit to himself, but he found Dennis' rocking, his voice and hold, comforting, and in a strange way he needed this. He needed to be held and rocked and loved. His eyes drifted and he became aware that he was relaxing deeper into Dennis, finding a form of trust that he had never bothered to uncover, to explore. He decided then, for logic he couldn't reason, that he wanted to explore Dennis Booker; just maybe, not now.

Dennis kept rocking until he saw Tom's eyes close. He continued still, long after Tom's breathing became even and consistent and ran a hand through his unruly hair, stroking the soft, moist cheeks of a fallen doll. He heaved Tom a little, positioning him better and careful not to wake him. He wrapped his limbs further around Tom and as the breathing battered body of Tom's pressed into Dennis', he understood just how fragile and vulnerable Tom was. Just how much of a porcelain doll Tom resembled. From his colouring and nature, to his broken and shattered life. He pulled Tom closer to him, listening to the faint heartbeat and ignoring Adam's words of keeping Tom awake. Tom deserved to be lost in a world of dreams than face his reality of nightmares.

Tom stirred a little, his head falling back. Dennis lightly pushed it up again into his chest, comforting Tom like he knew he never once would have dared to. He brushed the bangs out of Tom's face and took in the ugly discolour of bruises, the dried remains of blood and the gash that ran his forehead, surrounded by mauve colours. He placed a gentle kiss on Tom's forehead before returning his gaze to the limp body of Doug's.

Nothing made sense between the two. From a distance, they seemed perfectly content, deeply in love and, well, just perfect for each other like well lined jigsaw pieces. But close and up front, inside the fence the two had built, nothing was quiet like what it seemed and Dennis wished he had noticed it more, not taken it so lightly when Tom had arrived scared and afraid at his doorstep. He wished he could have been able to prevent the monster from mauling its prey.

"I'm sorry, Tom."  
/  
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**Ah…sorry if it's a little mushy and slushy. Hope you enjoyed that, and please let me know what you thought of Dennis. I think I stuffed him a little, so criticism on that is really appreciated. **

--Ignore this too.


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